Lost Inside
by snow-leopard6
Summary: Maladaptive daydreaming: a disordered form of dissociative absorption associated with vivid and excessive fantasy activity that often involves elaborate and fanciful scenarios. For Bella, fantasies have always been more vibrant than reality. Can Green Eyes bring her back down to earth? E&B, AH, HEA
1. Chapter 1

Her skin is smooth. Her lips are raspberry jam red and curved up into the perfect smile. Her eyebrows, those are perfect too with each mahogany strand carefully styled into an organised chaos that graces her smooth skin, mimicking the famous model everyone is crazy about. For a secret moment, I wonder what it would be like to feel her skin under my fingertips. Under my lips.

A sigh escapes said lips before I can stop myself. I quickly turn the page of the glossy magazine before the slightly sweaty businessman two seats away notices I've been staring at the same perfume advert for the past 5 minutes. Not that it matters. I can always feel their eyes on me in places like this.

They're all just waiting for their turn. If I had the courage to look anywhere but down, I would like to study them. But the risk of making eye contact keeps me locked up inside myself.

_Self-pity isn't attractive._

I can't quite remember where I once heard that, but it left an impression. In moments like this, where I'm inside my own head, narrating something as banal as the dentist waiting room, the thought pops back up.

Because I'd be lying if I said being locked inside my head wasn't exactly where I wanted to be. Don't pity me, no matter how much I would like to be pitied. To feel kind eyes on my face, fingers running through my hair in comfort, a soft smile against my skin and hot breath on my face as lips touch my forehead… wouldn't that be nice. And now I'm back to those raspberry jam lips in the magazine.

5 minutes have passed. I should probably turn the page now.

With a rush of realisation, that thought pulls me back out from the safe confines of my mind and back to slightly clammy cold hands gripping the probably germ-coated fashion magazine I slipped off the dentist waiting room table.

They haven't called my name yet. Or have they? Did I miss it while in my silent reverie? An occupational hazard for a compulsive daydreamer and one that does nothing to ease the growing anxiety inside.

I take a peek. No one is staring, the receptionist is still clacking away at the white 90s computer keyboard and the suit 2 seats down is staring into oblivion. The difference between me and him? He's bored out of his mind, while I thrive on the silence. No, nothing has changed and still no name has been called.

He doesn't notice my first glance. Nor the second. I flash my eyes around the waiting room but the collection of faces I touch on are all occupied with magazines, fishbowls and iPhones. It's safe to look for a little longer at this banal businessman in his navy suit. I can't see the texture from here, but I'm imagining the silky static of satin. While I'm admiring the way the light glances over the fabric as it sways with every breath, a hand – his hand, with swollen fingers like new potatoes – slips inside the inner jacket pocket. In one sweeping motion he pulls out a tiny glass vial, uses his thumb to push the metal cap open, and brings it to his lips. The liquid is dark but I'm too far to see the colour. As I watch, intently and without taking a breath, his body shudders and for a brief second his eyes roll back into his head.

And then they're on me. Piercing blue sky irises meet mine and they won't let go. Like the rolling of thunder his face darkens and the shadows grow. He's caught me looking. The vial makes a slight crunch in his hand as his fingers contract. Scarlet oozes from the gaps in his fist. I'm not breathing, I'm not moving, I'm captivated and caught all at once by this sweaty-skinned monster trapped in a navy-blue suit.

"Anna Knight"

The receptionist breaks the trance and it's all over. It's not my name that's been called, but it shatters the fantasy. The man in the suit is just a man in a suit, reaching for his phone and rolling his eyes at a something the caller has said. My eyes have dropped, my cheeks are burning, but his are still locked on my face, burning holes into my skull.

Fantasy 1, reality 0. And I was doing so well at keeping my imagination in check today.

A dangerous thought crosses my mind. The cost of not showing up to a booked appointment in the worryingly understaffed dentist surgery is just £50. I could just book another day, I don't have to deal with this now. The seed has been planted. I could just get up and leave. Why am I forcing myself to feel this anxiety?

Magnets draw my eyes up as Anna drifts past on her way to the tilting chair. The blue eyes are still staring at me from the blue suit. It's settled then. I'm leaving, I'll just do this another day. I can spare £50 to escape these eyes.

Energy surges through my muscles as all at once my body relaxes from its tense, anxiety-ridden state. The carpet is flying beneath me as I swiftly make my way out of the squeaky chair, making a sharp left before the receptionist's beady eyes can glance up and towards the exit. Of course, every other set of eyes is on me. Head down! Head down! The thoughts scream at me. The exit is just there, it must be a few steps now, I can hear the door swinging open and the bright air swirling into the clinical room.

Smack.

An exhale of breath huffs above my head as I realise why the door had just opened. The first thing I noticed was the smell of leather. Not new leather but worn. Just the faint aroma has my fingers twitching to reach for a feel. The wrinkled yet smooth texture dipping under my fingertips.

The leather-clad chest backs away slightly, bringing me back out from my mind. Fuck. How long was I just standing here with my head pressed into his leather jacket? Time loses its meaning so quickly nowadays.

Anxiety battles anxiety as the need to avoid eye contact clashes with the need to look up and apologise. Social convention wins out. God, I hope the worn leather wearer doesn't hate me.

Green, his eyes are green like the forest at dusk but colder. Much colder. The door has closed but the chill is still here growing icicles in my lungs. I want more, I want to see his face with the harsh white light from the ceiling illuminating the texture. But I can't leave his eyes, they're meeting mine and they have nothing pleasant to tell me. An eyebrow cocks and it's enough to break the spell. His skin is pale and smooth but firm. Hardened by the wind and the rain. His hair is a mess, falling over his forehead and sticking in every direction. It's the hairstyle of every male underwear model in the waiting room magazine, except this is real. There's nothing staged here. His lips curl up into a smirk and my bones turn to dust. The sinister coldness, the harshness in his eyes. It's real, not fantasy. He looks at me like a hunter approaching his prey. For a moment, it feels like he really sees me for what I am.

"Well?" he wants an apology. To my surprise, his accent is like mine. English. Southern.

Words fail me but the thought of moving my lips reminds me to close my mouth.

"Isabella Swan" the receptionist calls out to the waiting room, oblivious to the turmoil festering in me just a metre behind her computer screen.

A soft hum escapes me before I can reel it in. I groan internally. _If he didn't think you were a fucking imbecile before, he certainly does now._ I can't meet his eyes again so I dart around him and make a break for the door, surprised at my own gracefulness.

Once the cool air hits me I'm high again, hitting my stride as the pavement disappears under my feet. When I'm walking, I can just stop thinking and let the fantasies play out in my head. I keep my head down until I'm past the window looking into the waiting room, focusing on the sound of my jeans whispering as my thighs brush against each other.

I try in vain to ignore the heat burning in my core as the seam of my jeans rubs against me. To feel such strong feelings, emotions, evoked from a real person... It scares me, so I retreat to my fantasies. His Dark Materials was on TV last night and the allure of daemons and alethiometers draws my mind away from reality. Away from my life and the events of today. It's 3 miles from this small dentist practice to my home, over the rugged Welsh landscape. Plenty of time to get lost inside.

I know it's beautiful, but even here the real world is overrated. They told me, when I was in school, that the fantasies would pass as I grew older and the real world took over. There's no one around so the bitter laugh chokes its way up my throat at the thought. They were so wrong about me. The fantasies are so vivid, so much better than reality will ever be.

I'm at home already. It happens like that. The fantasies take over and even though my eyes are wide open I'm not really processing anything around me. Time passes and I just don't notice. I'm elsewhere inside my head. It took a month of getting lost in the green maze of fields before my feet learnt to stop at my new home while my head was in the clouds.

6 months. I suppose it isn't new anymore.

The garden was overrun when I first saw the cottage. The sickly perfume of roses permeated the thick hedges, waist-high grass and floated around the apple tree. It's November now and the garden is groaning in protest as it drowns under brown leaves constantly doused in the Welsh rain. It's still overrun. It's how I like it.

Having a whole cottage to myself is a luxury, these days. So I'm told. When people – the old people I once knew – heard that I was moving to Wales, they sighed knowingly. There are few places left in the UK where you can afford a home and live far enough away from the noise of humanity to actually hear yourself think. Snowdonia is one of those places, even in the heights of the tourist season. Everyone assumed this place was all I could afford. No one guessed that this was the only place I could stand to live, not even Charlie.

I pause for a moment to reach out and touch the red peeling paint on the front door before unlocking it. These little moments are happiness. Something as simple as feeling the crisp delicacy and glossy surface of the red paint is enough the bring me back to earth.

Simplicity is something few people understand any more. They want the next hit of adrenaline, the next movie to stream, the last cookie in the jar. You sit them down in a waiting room and they can no longer occupy themselves with just their thoughts. How dull it must be to have no imagination, no fantasies.

_Don't be a bitch. You know deep down that you're the odd one out, not them._

With a sigh, I open the door.

It's a small cottage, an open room downstairs with a fireplace at one end, kitchen at the other. Upstairs is a bedroom and bathroom under the sloping roof. It looks sparse but it smells like home. Slowly but surely the cottage is filling with curiosities. The smooth button I found on the bus to Aberystwyth with a jagged dent on the back that I love running my thumb over looks at home on the windowsill next to the ceramic witch figurine that made me smile when I passed it at the antiques store. Everything here has its place in the room and in my mind. The textures, the aromas, the sensations are what make this place home. I breathe it all in, the dentist debacle forgotten for now.

The empty space where the H key fell out of my laptop winks at me from the desk, reminding me that there's an article due tomorrow. It never ends, the constant clients bickering and demanding more work, faster, faster, faster. I've never met a single client in reality, but I write for them every day. Website content, blog articles, product descriptions. I'm good at what I do, the words always come to me in just the right way.

Slouching out of my brown hooded coat and hanging it by the door, I catch a flash of my appearance in the mirror I hung by the coat hooks. My eyes are dark, pupils wide in the shadowy room, and alive from travelling across a fantasy world on my journey from the dentist. My cheeks are flushed, still. And I know it's not from the 3 mile walk cross country to get home. My hair, dark brown and limp from being crushed under the hood, floats down to my lower back and the sight of my hip bones rising out of my jeans where my shirt rode up reminds me to eat something.

I get the fire going and then get to work. Menial tasks that interrupt the daydreaming.

The chop chop chop of the knife through the onion is soothing as I follow the recipe engrained in my brain. Roast squash carbonara. A favourite of mine. While it simmers down on the rickety gas stove my mind wanders off again, imagining teaching this recipe to a little one or cooking up enough for 2 to eat at the wonky table by candlelight.

_Stop._

Don't mix reality with fantasy. I learnt that the hard way. Fantasies are not real. Don't fantasise about what could be. I can't let the harsh light of reality crush my addictive escape.

I eat dinner hot by the fire with the TV on in the background, laying down afterwards on a sheepskin rug I found in a farm shop, to feel the hot tendrils ghosting over my fingers from the flames. I drift away again, back to those red magazine lips, feeling them on my neck as I ghost down my throat with the tips of my fingers. I arch into my touch.

I've never met anyone who could touch me how I want to be. How I have longed to be. It's agonising.

My fingertips trace a collar bone, leaving a cool trail as my hand blocks the heat from the fireplace. Just the tips of my fingers raising goosebumps over my skin and the light scratch of nails as they dip under the edge of my top and graze the curve of my breasts.

I can feel her hair ticking my nose as she leans down to kiss me teasingly, sliding her fingers down to the bottom edge of my shirt and pushing the velvety soft cotton up. She trails her tongue around my exposed navel and I'm lost in pleasure, completely forgetting it's my own fingers trailing so gently over my taught skin. That's all I need, touches. To simply feel someone and be felt. She looks up at me with a shy smile as her fingers tease open my tight jeans, I glance down, her eyes are brown like mine but playful and light. She knows what I want. Her fingers, hesitant and slight, slide under my silky panties, reaching down down down over my softest skin. She looks up again as the tip of her index finger meets burning hot desire. Brown eyes turn to green, cold and hard. The hand on me turns to ice and I wake up with a start.

3 am and the fire has gone out. With eyes half closed and panties still soaked through, I drag myself up to bed, crawling under the thick covers and feeling grateful that I'd never have to face the green-eyed man again. But this was only the beginning.


	2. Chapter 2

Bird song from the dense patch of trees lining the back of the cottage wakes me up the next morning, a cosy mess underneath a thick comforter. The Egyptian cotton is one of the luxuries I allowed myself when I moved here. The heat under it is incredible, it cocoons my body in marshmallow plumpness. It's made all the more cosy thanks to the bitterly cold air hitting my face where the covers fall short. With my eyes still tightly shut, I snuggle further under the cream coloured comforter… but it's too late, the day has started and whatever satisfying dream I was having has flown away. A vague recollection of leather and fresh earth is just out of reach.

10 minutes later and I almost have the energy to get up and face the stone-cold air in the room. 1, 2, 3. I flop out of bed onto the hardwood floor and brace for the chill. Goddamn. These old stone cottages are cold. The sunlight streaming through the window does nothing to warm my bones.

Flexing slowly, loving the way my spine feels as I unfurl, I get ready for the day.

My life is built around fantasies and pleasure, with each essential activity begrudgingly planned out to allow my mind more time to float away, worry-free.

First comes yoga in cosy cotton pyjamas. It's a must if I want to get any kind of work completed today. And I really should do some work if I want to pay the rent this month.

Shifting my weight back and forth over the mat, keeping my mind focused on the breath in and out, grounds me back down to earth. For the 20 minutes I'm working out the kinks, twisting gently into soft shapes, my mind is both present and blissfully empty. Nothing to think about but the texture under my fingers and the slow ache of stretching limbs. My calves are tight from yesterday's walk.

With my brain firmly in the real world, I begin the routine. The large bathtub under the soft glow of the skylight fills with hot water and bubbles, steaming up the full-length mirror in the adjoining bedroom. Wash, shave and pluck – I've come to realise that it's never a good idea to daydream away with a razor in one hand. Then I moisturise until my skin is as smooth and supple as I can make it. I don't deny this small vanity. I gave up on looking film-star beautiful a long time ago. It was never on the cards for me. But making my skin and long chocolate hair as touchably silky as possible, that's within grasp.

I dress, slowly. The heat from the freestanding bath clinging to my skin and keeping away the chill as I slide blue silk panties up my legs. Next, I slip on the jeans that hug me just right and the perfectly worn-in long sleeve jersey t-shirt. The textures are another small pleasure I won't deny myself.

Catching myself from staring out the window and getting lost in the first fantasy of the day, I pad around with bare feet down the wooden stairs and wait impatiently for my laptop to load up, tapping my toes on the chair leg below me. The room is just as I left it last night, dishes ready to be washed and a rumpled sheepskin rug by the fireplace. Heat returns to my cheeks thinking about last night. It's not that unusual anymore, for muses to be feminine and light, but it's still enough to make me blush. These thoughts are almost as frequent as my longings for rough fingers and manly scents. Not that I've been keeping count. And not that it matters. I've still not quite pinpointed what it is that attracts me to people, it's different every time. Gender is irrelevant.

I never told anyone that, not even Jake. An uncontrollable grimace emerges at the thought. Luckily the ancient laptop has finally woken up and gives me an excuse to stop thinking about… that.

I tuck my fingers underneath the laptop as the browser fires up, letting it heat my hands. I leave my feet bare to the room, letting the cold air keep them awake and keep me present. I check emails first, jotting down a to-do list for the day, prioritising the work that's due.

Next in the routine is the TV. I'm currently a third into season 3 of the huge House M.D. DVD boxset. It's just one in my collection. It sits in between the Friends boxset and Gilmore Girls on the low shelf by the TV set. I couldn't tell you a single thing about the characters in these shows, but they're essential for focusing on work. The steady hum of voices, laugh tracks or repetitive storylines are mundane enough to stop the fantasies popping up. It's my equivalent of ambient rain or coffee shop soundtracks.

Work flows out of me now, my imagination focused and strong. An informative article about brewing with a French press? 20 descriptions of stiletto heels? Anything is possible when you can walk in anyone's shoes. It doesn't matter that I dislike coffee or have never worn heels this high. My imagination is my superpower. My chameleon soul warping from one person to the next, captured and forced to perform for corporate clients. Every day I sell my soul to earn my keep.

It's past midday when my energy drains away. The cold air in the room has lost it's bite, even with the sun momentarily hiding behind a puff of clouds. Arching my back again to feel the softness of my shirt stretch and slide over my bare breasts underneath, I let my mind drift for just a moment and a memory shimmers into existence. It's a memory I try to avoid, but once it's there, it always lingers.

_5 years ago, sitting across from him in our favourite Chinese restaurant, the bumpy texture of the tablecloth under my hand and the sweet sticky aroma of oriental dishes and childish romance in the air. His russet skin is still glowing from my touch only an hour before. I remember exactly what his skin felt like, the way his muscles rippled under the surface as he reached climax, the taste of him in my mouth. And the bitter taste later that evening, when he informed me over dinner that yesterday he'd got back with his girlfriend. It was just the last straw in a long line of mistakes I'd forgiven over the previous 24 months, made all the worse by the innocent, excited look in his eyes. He had no idea what he was doing or why it was wrong on both our parts. We were just kids, fresh out of high school. But that didn't mean my feelings for him weren't real. He never touched me quite right, it was always forced, more interested in his own release. It didn't matter. I was hooked on the idea of him, the dreams and fantasies of epic true love tales mixing with reality and blinding my eyes to how he was using me._

Shame, embarrassment, heartache. Lesson learnt. Don't mix reality with fiction. He shattered both my worlds in one fell swoop.

I've moved to the kitchen without realising, a sign I should listen to my body. The familiar click of the kettle as I set it to boil. Reaching into the cupboard for the large tin of jasmine scented green tea, popping open the lid and swirling the fragrance around the room.

The lonely banana in the fruit bowl smiles nervously as I reach for the last tin of custard in the cupboard and a twisted silver spoon from the drawer. Bananas and custard for lunch it is. Jotting down a to-do list for tomorrow, including rebooking the dentist appointment and walking into town for more food, I settle onto the plush sofa as I wolf down the creamy sweetness.

My toes wiggle beneath me, feeling the floorboards slide around under my feet. Small pleasures again, and a reminder that despite shattering my worlds and breaking my heart, I recovered from Jake. New fantasies came and went, and he faded back into the mural of people in my life.

To say that fantasies were a way to escape the sour moments in my life would only be half true. They didn't cause me to be this way. My mother left, I didn't get on with many people at school, dad was always busy at the police station and too occupied to notice the real me… the same traumas of so many teenage girls. Nothing new. No abnormal trauma or abuse to explain why I am this way. No, the fantasies started way before that. For as long as I can remember, I've been lost inside.

Something separates me from other people. Maybe I just don't belong in this grey world.

Butterflies come to life in my belly with excitement as the thought of drifting away from this world for the rest of the afternoon tempts me away from work. I make an effort to go over my list in my head, half-heartedly trying to make sure my priorities are met before I indulge myself again, but the darkening afternoon light is already pulling me away.

My body sinks back into the sofa, hidden beneath the cushions as I watch the room intently. They can't see me here, if I'm quiet. The dark shadows swirl around, pulling books off shelves, hunting for something. I stay quiet, letting them root through my belongings and waiting for my moment. My fingers close around the handle of the blade tucked into my left side, feeling the twisted shape of the hilt as my fist closes around it.

Patience is essential, they can't know that I'm here if I'm going to do this right. Do this clean. The shadow nearest to me senses my presence, swirling around and breathing dark plumes of smoke in my direction. I hold my breath as the seconds tick by. The shadow turns away, ghosting over my desk, hunting still. But there's nothing for them to find there, just maps of the old world. Anything vital to the cause is already locked away in the vault. The corners of my mouth lift and my toes curl as the moment gets nearer, the moment to strike. When the hunters will be hunted.

2 behind me, 1 floating up to the top of the stairs, and the 4th finishing up on my desk. My route is already planned and my fingers curl that little bit tighter around the blade in anticipation. My heart is thundering in my chest as my muscles coil and… release!

I'm flying, my body cutting through the air and bringing the long, thin blade of my knife through the shadow creature before me. Light flashes as the silver steel makes contact, shining through the heart of the dark ghost. Just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. A smattering of dust hits the floor, the only evidence it was here.

Behind me the other two advance, just as I'd predicted. Their ability to walk through objects, sliding their shadows straight through the sofa, is their advantage. They think they have the upper foot. Ha. They always underestimate me. I'm a blur as I leap over the sofa, my hair a brunette mane behind me as I let my momentum carry me, piercing one shadow and ducking down to avoid the clutches of the other. I swing around and let my body bounce of the sofa, using our surroundings to _my _advantage. They didn't stand a chance.

I land on the balls of my feet, listening for the papery whisper of my last victim, shuffling through my wardrobe upstairs. Keeping my body low yet light on my feet, I edge towards the steps. The blade catches the last sunbeams of the day penetrating the room as I hold it out with both hands. The only sound is my breath, shallow pants as the excitement courses through my veins.

I'm halfway up the stairs now, pausing to listen closely for movement. All is silent. Blood rushes through my ears, my only choice is to continue up. Avoiding the squeaky step, I pounce up and land at the foot of the bed, crouched down low.

It's there, by the window, and about to turn and see me. Without hesitation the blade is flung from my fingers, slicing through the air, spinning and dazzling us both as we freeze. It plunges straight into the shadow darkness and lodges into the wall.

I let me heart rate come back down before crossing the room to retrieve my blade. I inspect it closely. The blade was a gift from the protector of this land, I promised to take care o-

There's someone watching me. The twisted silver spoon slips through my fingers and hits the floor, flicking the last trace of custard against my legs. My eyes are fixed on the creaking trees outside where I swore a figure was standing, watching the cottage. A flash of colour, auburn brown.

Whatever it was is gone now, my eyes can't see anything or anyone. Probably the last autumn leaves floating to the ground… except the world is holding perfectly still today, not a single breeze rustles a leaf.

_Now you're really losing it._

My heart is still in my throat and refuses to be swallowed back down. It was nothing, I reassure myself. You've just got over-excited, that's all.

Still, I make sure the window is locked tight before heading back down, spoon in hand, to check the front and back doors. Locked tight too.

I gulp down air, only just noticing how cold it is. I settle on my knees to scrumple up newspaper and carefully place logs and branches for the fire. It takes 3 broken matches before shaking fingers can light it properly.

Sitting back on my heels, I watch the flames spread quickly over the newspaper and seep into the solid wood logs. It takes a moment for the heat to really emanate and reach my skin.

I work around the room, drawing the curtains and picking up the books and ornaments thrown around during this afternoons daydream. The dishes are quickly washed and back where they belong. A glance inside the fridge reveals nothing more than a sorry looking parsnip and the last crumbly cube of cheddar.

The kettle goes back on and I draw up a big pot of ginger tea to calm my stomach and nerves while bringing the heat back to my toes.

Back on the sofa now, the TV auto shut off hours ago when the DVD ended. It's just me, my quiet breath in the room and the crackling of the fire. The panic starts to close in. I'm alone, God I'm so alone.

The comforting warmth of my fantasies won't come quick enough, so I grab my worn copy of The Magician's Nephew off the shelf and let my mind absorb the well-known story with childlike wonder, as if it was the first time again. My lips trace the words as my eyes scan each line, enjoying the dry paper feel under my fingertips and the welcoming hug of the sofa as I curl into the corner and try to forget the silent watcher and auburn flash outside the window.

When it's not being grey and dull, the real world is too much for a soft soul.


	3. Chapter 3

I stir the next morning as muted light filters through the curtains. My sleep was troubled by shadows and watchful eyes, making me toss and turn into the early hours. I'm hidden under the covers completely, my skin glowing with warmth and eyes slightly dry but rested. It was too frightening to have my head exposed to the cold room… but too hot to live under the comforter with pyjamas on, so I took them off and burrowed down, feeling the gentle cotton massaging my back and cupping my ass. Last night was terrifying, but right now, in this moment, I feel safe. The fog curling around my mind lulls me with soothing sensations. My hand, resting heavy on my right thigh flickers to life and slowly explores the silky expanse of flesh in the search for warmth.

Up, up, up the slender hand travels along my skin teasing and building tension. The long, rough fingers inch closer, feeling the radiating heat from my core, hovering a millimetre away from bare lips, glossy with wetness. I can't control the whimper that escapes me as I ache for those fingers to feel me, my hips bucking up to help the tips slide along the slit, gathering wetness. With each pass, up and down, torturously slowly, they slide further in. Sparks fly off my skin and a deep ache grows, tight and low, begging to be teased apart. The need to fall over the edge is so strong, the need for release heavy in the humid air under the covers. But this rough handed lover enjoys watching me writhe. A finger grazes my sensitive clit sending a jolt of energy zipping through my entire body. I want more, shifting against the hand for that much needed friction. Fingers twist and slide, coated entirely in slippery juices as they circle my entrance. Like a coin spiralling down a wishing well, with each circular motion 2 fingers get closer and closer to pushing in, a thumb teasing the spot just above my aching clit, testing how far it can push me before I beg. They slowly slide in, feeling the resistance from tight, burning walls squeezing and wishing for more. The thumb descends on my clit, showing no mercy as it circles one way and then the other, applying enough pleasure to curl my toes but not enough friction to drive me wild. The fingers inside pump slowly, meaningfully, and curl round.

I let out a groan. No matter how good the fantasy, it won't add another inch to my short, thin fingers. The elusive sweet spot hovers just out of reach. I buck harder into my hand, teeth digging into my lip as I will my fingers to find it. They can't. I feel my walls quiver around them, wishing they could grip something far more substantial than my own slender digits. My swollen clit throbs.

The moment is gone and I'm left panting with the primal need for more, knowing that it's not going to come. Fuuuuck.

Licking the wetness off my fingers, I swirl my tongue over the patterns in the skin, tasting my musky scent and slippery texture as I clean. My eyes peel open to find myself sprawled over the centre of the double bed, not rolled close to one edge like usual. In a fit of panic last night I managed to drag the heavy wardrobe close to the door so no wandering shadow could break in. It seems to have done the trick in the end.

In the daylight, last night's panic seems frivolous and silly. I let my mind get the better of me. There was no one watching me from the trees.

_You probably imagined the green-eyed man in the waiting room, too._

I scowl at that thought. Embarrassment bruises my cheeks red as a memory of my clumsiness and inobservance resurfaces as I go over the event in my head. Yes, I probably invented it all just to get out of the awkward social circumstance.

Frustration turns to anger, propelling me out of bed. I should have taken better care of myself and this wouldn't have happened. I will do a better job today, I promise.

I stretch, wash and dress in cosy thermals before attempting to pull the wardrobe back into place. Splinters catch under my nails as the hard wood protests at my actions. Any other day I would have yelped and cried, but today it just adds to the burn and ache inside.

A sloppily written shopping list in hand, I sift through receipts and old bus tickets in the desk drawer, looking for my phone. Miraculously, it still has power at 27%. A message flashes up on the screen, 3 missed calls from Charlie over the past 5 days. The thought of calling him back makes my heart drop. I'll email him later.

Stuffing it all into my shoulder bag and tugging on my soft brown fur-lined parka, I leave the cottage, flicking off the light switch as I do.

Home is 3 miles away from the nearest town, although in most other counties it would only just pass as a village. There's a tiny nursery centre, the SPAR petrol garage where I can find the groceries I need, 2 pubs, and the dentist. It's the only dentist this far out in the sticks – if you can't get an appointment there, you've got the gruelling journey into Porthmadog on the world's slowest bus. How it manages to navigate through the twisty roads of the national park are beyond me, it's always a miracle when we arrive in one piece. I take that trip every few months to visit the supermarket or doctors. The only other businesses near me are here just for the tourists and closed up for the winter months ago.

The breeze has picked up a little, blowing the scent of decaying leaves and freshly dug earth in my direction. It rained last night, as it nearly always does, but the ground beneath my feet isn't waterlogged – I'm free to get lost without worrying about falling on my face. Plugging headphones into my phone, I'm eager to slip into my favourite part of the day.

There are 3 of them behind, their movements sluggish and drowsy. Not too many for me to outrun. A glimpse of a crossbow beckons me further down the path and through the trees. He doesn't need to growl "keep up" at me anymore, I know how to survive in this world. I push on through the trees, tracking his path as he tracks the rest of the group we're separated from.

The woods are teaming with walkers, they seem more active than usual. The cold weather slows us down, but not the undead. My feet are flying over branches, brambles snagging at my coat as I take a short cut through the valley where fog still swirls around the darkest places. More are coming, I can hear them. I speed up, the soft earth under my feet slowing me down but giving me more spring to vault over fallen branches and murky puddles, using ivy-wrapped trees to balance and stay upright, clawing at the damp bark with my nails.

"Daryl?" I let a hiss slip through my lips. It's dangerous to be so loud… but even more dangerous to be lost.

My heart thumps loudly as I push harder, faster, breaking through the trees and nearing the abandoned village we scouted a few days past. The slap of my feet hitting pavement propels me further, down the vacant street, dodging haphazardly abandoned cars.

_Stop, someone will see you!_

With one last corner to turn, I come to a halt and lean against a lamp post, my breath coming in ragged huffs as I try to catch it. I pull off the headphones to relieve my ears from the pulsing music and focus on my fingers as I wind up the cord to fit in my bag, grounding myself and letting reality catch up. The shop is just a minute away.

My feet drag me through the maze of streets on this side of the village. Each house looking the same as the next. Tall, gaping windows, identical concrete paths leading up to identical plastic doors. A solution to the housing problem or just another rat maze to occupy the mindless population?

My eyes flitter from side to side, more interested in the late autumn colours than the asphalt beneath my soles. I remember travelling down a million streets like this when I was a kid. I'd watch fascinated from the backseat window of Charlie's police car as the blue lights flashed off street signs and parked cars, loving when we drove by floor to ceiling shop windows and I could see my reflection staring back at me as we flew past.

We were never close, not like the kind of families you see on TV. We didn't talk over dinner, we didn't have heartfelt moments. But we did have a silent understanding, a connection that ran deep. Sometimes I still miss him. When Renee left he was swept up with work more, only appearing at home late into the night, no more time to take his young daughter on joyrides through suburban neighbourhoods. When I eventually left for university it came more as a relief, for both of us.

He calls to check in every now and then, but I never know what to say. Speaking aloud, on the phone or otherwise, isn't smooth. It doesn't flow. But written words sing to me. The luxury of mulling over a sentence for a few minutes, adjusting and readjusting each reply to say exactly what needs to be said, the art of subtle hints… it's all so much more elegant. More elaborate. More me.

A flash of movement at the end of the street turns my head. A tall figure rounds the corner onto the original high-street. It's not his leather jacket that catches my eye this time, although it does strike me as unusual to see someone without a thick coat in this weather, it's his hair. The auburn colour flips my belly upside down, the panic returning and rising up my throat. I take a gulp of fresh air but it only chokes me further.

Is it the same? Was he watching me last night? Was it all real?

_Don't be silly, you've just gone and done it again. Let the fantasy slide into reality. Do you think it's just a coincidence that both sightings have been just after a whirlwind daydreaming session? He's not real._

There's only one way to find out for sure.

It takes a few beats to remember how my feet work before I cross the street and follow after the figure. My skin prickles all over.

_It's just the cold._

Fire is surging through my veins just from seeing him again.

_No, you're still feeling adrenaline from running in the woods._

Shut up!

Tingling with nerves, I quickly and quietly power walk to the street corner, keeping my footsteps light and remembering my stealth training from last night. The SPAR garage is 5 storefronts away along the grey stone high-street, on the other side of the road. It's cold and dead in November, barren after the hundreds of excited tourist feet trampled it down over the summer. My eyes are frantic, jumping across the few harrowed faces stumbling their way down the high-street before falling on broad shoulders and narrow hips wrapped up in leather as they slip inside the door of the SPAR. Shit shit shit.

_Well, that hasn't proven anything. You could have easily imagined that_

I need to get closer, I need to see if he's really here… or I could retreat. Go home, call it a day. Parsnip soup isn't so bad. I can just shop tomorrow. The temptation swirls over me like a cloud. Fuck it. Flight wins over fight.

I pivot on my heels, suddenly desperate to get away from the gloomy grey and back to the earthy browns of home. And, as always, I've been completely unobservant of my surroundings. The elderly grandma who'd been walking up behind me was almost knocked over by my sudden change of heart.

"Sorry dear, I didn't mean to startle you," she croaks into the cold air. Her eyes are kind and edged with concern. I wonder what my face must look like right now.

"S'alright," I manage to mumble by default, her eyes widening minutely as she registers my accent as English, not Welsh. "I wasn't watching where I was going." I offer with a small smile. She returns my smile politely.

I step aside to let her shuffle past and the realisation hits me. He must have seen me coming that day at the dentist. I wasn't turning a corner, I was in his direct line of sight. His hands were by his sides and he'd just opened the door – he definitely wasn't distracted by his phone. No, he knew I was walking with my head down, heading for the only exit. He let it happen, let me walk straight into him with no effort made to step out of the way. And then he expected an apology. With a smirk.

My jaw clenches tight. How dare he?

I send daggers with my eyes to the SPAR down the street. My feet carrying me closer. A swirl of faces cross my mind, my friends, my lovers, my heroes. All fantasy… but all brave. We don't let people walk all over us.

The bravado lasts until the second I push through the door, the bell shattering every last drop of strength I had mustered. He's right there, leaning with one arm on the counter, chatting to the beautiful blonde behind the till. Heavy boots with uneven laces lead up to strong, denim clad legs. Straight cut fit, but still tight enough to see the defined lines of muscle. Even twisted over the counter, the black leather hugs his skin, his long arms, his broad shoulders. There's strength here too, the sinewy kind. He's not a bodybuilder type, he's charming and handsome in the old-world way, using his wits and sly smiles. The auburn flames atop his head are renewed as he runs long, pale fingers through the locks. Every detail is etched into my mind. He's so vibrant, how can this be real? Every inch of him calls to me. God, I could stand here all day just watching him from afar.

He leans further over the counter and talks to the pretty girl behind it, his voice is too quiet to make out words, but I can tell it's dark, not too deep, and very playful. It resonates with something deep inside me.

She snorts loudly at whatever he's saying, waving him away with her pink-nailed hands as she glances over to the door, meeting my eyes.

I feel like a schoolkid again, caught looking at the popular kids from the loner table in the cafeteria. I duck into the nearest aisle, my heart thumping for the second time this day as my hands tremble. I don't know what to do with them so I shove them deep into the pockets of my coat, finding a conker I picked up on an adventure a few weeks back. The smooth texture in the palm of my hand is my lifeline to reality, the only thing stopping me floating into my mind and out of this town.

A moment passes. Then another. Several more pass by before my eyes focus again on what's in front of me. Apples are what I find.

I dig around in my bag for the list, deciding I'm getting apples whether they're on it or not.

That's how I take it for the next 10 minutes, adopting the kind old lady's shuffle as I move from one item on my list to the next, adding a large bar of chocolate and vanilla ice cream with the forbidden apples I hadn't planned for, carefully weighing up the need for long-lasting canned food with the burden of carrying it all the way home.

The store is silent now, my heartbeat echoes between the shelves of dried pasta and rice. I really can't linger any longer, so I move my feet one at a time towards the till, my stomach dragging a few steps behind on the ground. The coast seems clear.

The aroma of blooming flowers and hairspray assault me as I inch closer to the counter. She's paying me no mind, far more interested in shaping the nails on her left hand. I slide my basket to the counter, watching her hands move back and forth as she starts scanning.

"Do you need a bag?" her Welsh accent not as strong as most people living around here.

I nod.

Something moves behind me, catching in my peripheral vision. He's still here. My body locks down, fear and anticipation run through me. He can't be more than 5 steps away. She pauses from her scanning, glancing up to share a smirk with Green Eyes. Blood rushes to my face as I realise, I'm probably the punch line of their joke.

Any notion of standing up to him or hell, even looking at him, is long forgotten. It takes a tremendous amount of willpower not to just stare at my shoes. Instead, I focus on her. The way the slender gold necklace twists and slithers by her throat as she turns her head. How the shirt hides her curves. Even with the unnecessary makeup coating her skin, she's still pretty to me.

I'm so busy keeping my mind in front of me, I fail to hear his footsteps getting further away on the linoleum floor.

"See ya, Rose," he calls over the aisles as he leaves the store, side-stepping some puddles and darting across the road to avoid the cars.

She mutters something from behind the till while I'm watching his figure retreat back the way he came.

A fake cough draws my attention back to her.

"That'll be £13.96, love" her face passive but her eyes sparkling with a hidden joke.

I fumble into my bag to pull out the contactless payment debit card. I'm finished moments later and escaping into the cool air with a bag of groceries in each hand. I walk slower now, letting my mind mull over everything, trying to separate the real from the fake.

I'm still not convinced he's real. He's too electric, the air around him sends my pulse running high whenever I get close. He captivates me, intrigues me, scares me and angers me all at once. He's magnetic.

I've never seen him before, and now I glimpse this new character in the town twice in one week? It's too much of a coincidence.

But if he is fake, if this is fantasy, then Rose must be too. Or at least, her interactions and silent jokes are. And this would be bad, very bad. It would mean I finally lost it. Up until this point, I've been absorbed by my imagination, but never under the illusion that it was real. I knew what was reality and what was fantasy. Now the lines are blurring.

No, that can't be right. I bumped into him, I could feel the leather, I heard him speak. He must be real. The thought sends shivers down my arms.

_Avoiding your deteriorating mental state and finding an excuse to get closer to your new obsession all in one go? You've really hit a new level of pathetic._

And still, none of this explains what I saw – or thought I saw – out the window last night.

All this thinking is giving me a headache. I want to reach for the conker but my hands are burning with the thin strips of plastic bags digging into my palms. My pace speeds up, the sound of my boots hitting the pavement my only beat as I dart across the street. The woods are in view, only a few houses between me and freedom. I break into a run, I want to get home, I crave the comfort of the fire, the hissing sound of the stove heating up a hot dinner, the touch of cashmere on my skin. I long for that solace, to shed this rough coat and just simply be myself again, lost inside my stone cottage.

The earth welcomes me back as I trample across the forest floor, snapping twigs and working my way deeper into the darkness. Daryl would be fuming, I think to myself as I jump over a tree stump making as much noise as possible. I send a silent thank you up to the people at Amazon Prime for adding 8 seasons of The Walking Dead (and unlimited zombie fantasies) to my TV collection this past month.

A twig snaps behind me, pushing my legs to go further to avoid the walkers and make it back to camp without being bit. Faster, faster, I swirl between trees, my arms swaying from side to side with the weight of my haul adding momentum to my movements. More twigs. I can hear them panting now, trying to catch up.

_Something's not right, walkers don't run like this._

I look down to my bag, realising my headphones are still stored inside. There's no music playing, this fantasy wasn't planned.

"HEY" the voice behind me yells, sharp and urgent and violent. My head turns sharply towards the chaser, jerking me off course and sending me smack into a tree at full speed. I glance off the rough trunk, tasting metallic salt in my mouth and tumble down to the ground, the weight of the groceries pulling me over and over as I roll down into the valley, through the dirt and decay.


	4. Chapter 4

Wet dirt and slimy leaves fill my mouth as I roll over and over down the slope, twigs snatching at my coat and pulling my hair painfully in all directions. The groceries are long forgotten as I try to catch myself from falling further. Eventually I roll to a stop, feeling dazed with ringing in my ears and my stomach feeling upside down.

_Keep breathing._

So, I do. I breathe and sputter out leaves and dirt, clawing my fingers into the earth and trying to pull my torso upright. The strap of my shoulder bag is digging in tightly around my wrist, I fight to free myself and reach for my phone, accidentally snapping a picture of the woodland as my thumb slips and slides with mud over the power button.

My mind is all over the place, trying to catch up with what happened. Feeling slowly returns to my limbs, the right side of my face is damp and tingling.

"That was quite the shortcut, wasn't it?" the playful voice mocks from behind me.

He makes his way down into the valley I've fallen into, holding onto crooked tree limbs and watching how he places his feet. My heart has stopped but the fear is still coursing through my veins from the run, it moves my legs without permission, digging my heels into the earth as I shimmy back until I hit a tree trunk.

This only amuses him more.

He comes to a stop a few feet away and watches me for a moment, a silent deliberation going on behind his green eyes. My brain still hasn't caught up, all I can do is watch and breathe.

"Well, I can't see any blood under all that mud. Any broken bones?" he gestures towards me. I stare for a moment longer until the meaning of his words clicks in.

He leans back against a tree and folds his arms as I regain movement in my own and gingerly pat down my body, wriggling my toes. I'm still too shocked to feel any pain, just the gradually slowing inhale and exhale of my breath.

"No," a voice rasps out. _My voice._

"Can you walk? They'll have a hard time getting the air ambulance close to the trees."

Chagrin washes over me at the thought.

"No hospitals," I manage to spit out with a mouthful of mud.

He absorbs that for a moment, looking me over. "You ran like a bat out of hell straight into a tree and rolled your way about…" he looks up towards the light "say, 50 feet, down here."

"No hospitals," I repeat quieter this time. My memories and determination coming back to me in short bursts.

He nods. For some reason I can't figure out, he accepts that. Hospitals are a no-go.

"Then you're coming back with me so I can check you over" his eyes sparkling with the double entendre.

Red alarms blare inside my head. The daughter of a police chief doesn't just wander willingly into the home of a stranger.

"I don't know you."

That stops him in his tracks. "No, you don't." he murmurs thoughtfully. "But I don't see an alternative."

The cold earth below is beginning to seep into my skin through mud-soaked jeans, drawing my attention to aches growing all over my body. With all the strength I have left, which is very little, I find my voice. "I'm going home."

He outright laughs at that, the loud noise bouncing off the trees with a bitter edge. "If you could see what you look like right now."

His amusement irritates me. I repeat myself through gritted teeth, "I'm going home. Now."

"You can go home," he allows, "but first I'm checking you over."

The look on my face does nothing to dissuade him.

"You hit your head pretty hard," he pulls himself away from the tree and saunters towards me "give me your phone." He holds out his hand expectantly.

He's closer now, I can see the zipper on his jacket and the slow deliberate movement of his chest as he breathes.

He crouches down. "It's okay, I'm just going to use the light to check for a concussion. My uncle is a doctor."

My fingers are still clutching the phone tightly. I make no move to release it, keeping my eyes locked on his figure, waiting for any sudden movements.

He sighs. "There's no way I'm letting you walk away without checking."

"Use your phone," I compromise, unwilling to lose every argument.

He smiles wider, pulling an old Nokia out of back a pocket. "No light."

My senses are returning along with my self-consciousness. I remember how I got here, how I first saw this enigmatic man. Blood rushes to my cheeks as my eyes drop.

I can't see any other way out of this mess. A shaky hand extends from my torso as I tap at the screen, getting the code wrong twice before regaining control of my fingers and unlocking it.

I watch quietly as his long fingers grip my phone and move closer, focusing on the short nails and rough tips. There are small cuts and bruises dotted over the backs of his hands, the skin is worn and hardened.

"Look at me," he demands.

The light flickers over one eye and then the other, checking how my pupils respond.

"You seem okay, normal responses, not overly sensitive to the light," he talks more to himself than to me, as he goes over his diagnosis. "Any pain in your head? Double vision? Dizziness?"

"No," I manage a whisper. The pain isn't in my head. I look away, his green eyes are too much to look at right now. They bring back the worry, the fantasy.

Is this real?

_Now's not the time to think about that. You need to get home, look after yourself._

"Why were you running?" he questions, his face staring down at me with intensity.

The blood rushes back to my face, my fingers automatically reaching up to my cheeks and feeling the mud caked onto my skin – it's too thick for him to tell that I'm blushing. The relief only lasts a moment before realisation crashes down.

"Why were you following me?" I reply, intending to mirror his intensity but failing miserably. My voice is petulant, even to my own ears.

He's quiet for a moment, then he reaches into the hidden pocket in his jacket and pulls out a chocolate bar. "You dropped this. Tell me why you were running."

"I could hear you behind me, it freaked me out." It's true, but it's not the answer he wants.

"No, the running came first. You were running when you passed my house and dropped the chocolate, don't lie to me." His eyes are swirling intense and dark, leaning in closer.

My voice catches in my throat, words completely lost. It's too much. My eyes break away as I turn my head, my gaze falling onto a lone apple near my left hand. I'm not going to answer. There is no acceptable answer to give.

"There's not much left to salvage," he observes, his tone light and mocking again as he nudges a smashed potato with his boot. His mood changes are giving me whiplash.

I struggle to my feet, using the tree behind me as my hands scrape on the rough bark.

The loaf of bread must have broken my fall somewhat, it's distorted and muddied. 3 of the apples seem intact, the mud will wash off he tells me as he hands me the fourth with both hands. The pasta and tinned soup survived as well. Everything soft is gone or lost amidst the leaves.

Gathering what I can with numb fingers, I stuff it into my shoulder bag. His hand stretches out to offer me the phone back. Beating down the desire to snatch it from his hands, I carefully take it from his open palm, making sure not touch his skin so as not to get his hands muddy.

_Or so you don't shatter the illusion._

Without a word, he turns around and starts to climb back up the steep slope, following the bright streak of vanilla ice-cream marking my descent.

I will my sodden legs to follow, feeling the earth move unsteadily below me. He waits at the top, watching me grip branches to pull myself up, digging muddied fingers into the earth in front of me when there's nothing in reach.

I'm panting by the time I reach the top. He makes no move to help me.

"It's not safe to be out here alone, y'know." He chides me quietly as we start to make our way through the trees back to the path. "I'm pretty sure I've seen these woods with police tape at least twice on Crime Watch," he continues. I can hear the smile in his voice now. Nothing bad ever happens here.

"Murderers? Here?" I attempt to mock him, but it doesn't come out right.

"Monsters, too" he replies, playing along smoothly.

"And you think I'm the next victim."

"Aren't you?" he pauses to look at me, our slow pace coming to a halt. "Do your parents know you're out here?" He's back to mocking me again, a light sparkling in his dark green eyes. 23 and I'm still ID'd buying energy drinks. He doesn't know it, but he hit a nerve.

"Maybe it's the other way around. Women can be evil too." I retort, my chin jerking up, trying to seem braver than I am. Any distraction from the way my ribs are aching.

"Ah, so that's why you were running. Trying to lure some poor village boy out into the woods?"

"It worked, didn't it?" the words come surprisingly easy as we build the fantasy together.

"And now you're taking me back to your favourite spot for a pleasant Saturday afternoon murder," he starts walking again, his hands clasped behind his back, "but you should know, I won't go down quietly."

"You won't be conscious for it, there won't be time to scream."

We've reached the path and my weary feet are relieved to start trekking down the familiar path to home. But instead of walking back towards the faint outline of grey houses, he follows me deeper into the woods, widening his stride to catch up with me.

"What are you doing?"

"Making sure you get home safe. There are monsters around here, don't you know."

I scowl, the drying mud on my face scrunching and flaking with the movement.

He ignores it and continues. "Or we could turn around now and head back to mine. There are no monsters under my bed, promise" he winks.

It's not like you read in the books. Yes, my blood boils, but not with lust. He winks, he mocks and laughs like I'm a child. It's infuriating. Who the hell is he?

"You can't stop me going home" my voice carries through the trees as the words come out sharper than intended.

"It doesn't take much to interrupt your path," he retorts, trying to cough down a laugh. My mouth drops open and his grin is blinding. He remembers the dentist waiting room. He _was _guilty. He saw me coming.

"Why?" Now it's my turn to demand. It's not nearly as effective.

He smiles a different smile, fondness replaces the cold edges. Something burns in my stomach. Who makes him smile like that?

"I wanted to see what you would do."

His answer makes no sense.

"Why me?" the question blurts out before I can stop it.

_You're so self-absorbed._

He starts walking again, a slow pace in the direction of my home.

"You've been seen," is his reply.

"What the hell does that mean?" the pain in my ribs and flow of conversation pushing me further. He draws me out of my mind.

He isn't offended by my tone. Or if he is, he doesn't let on.

"The kids at the nursery. You walked past a few months back with twigs in your hair. Stories about the 'Witch of the Woods' started not long after." He has a soft smile on his lips as memories drag him away from the present. I don't have the heart to bring him back with more questions, so I go over this new information in my mind, trying to decipher what it all means.

We're almost out of the woods now, the ferns thinning out and the ground beneath our feet specked with tufts of grass.

"You're not nearly as intimidating as you're supposed to be," he turns to me with his signature smirk but it fades quickly as he sees the extent of the damage in the bright, overcast light away from the murky trees.

"How far are we?" his voice has lost it's smoothness, his eyes growing colder and harder as we jerk to a stop again.

"Not far." I start walking again but strong cold hands wrap around my wrist and yank me back.

"I said, how far?" His eyes are swirling vortexes of darkness, pulling me back into the damp forest. "Give me a real answer."

"I don't know! 2 fields that way, turn left, another field and a half that way. I haven't measured it, sorry for the inconvenience," I snap back. The force of my answer startles me, my mouth hanging open for a fraction then snapping shut. My jaw is beginning to throb.

He charges ahead, a stony expression on his face as he drags me along with him.

"Let go!"

He ignores me.

"It hurts, let go."

Something softens him and he releases my arm from his grasp. I rub the tender skin for a moment then struggle to catch up with his long strides as he carries on going.

_Why did you tell him where you live? You still don't know him!_

We walk in silence now, nothing but the sound of heavy boots hitting the earth and the damp grass parting for us. Mud clogs my nose so I breathe through my mouth, swallowing the fresh air. My bones are aching and the more I focus on the fragile state of my body, the more it wants to give in. Maybe I could just sit down for a moment, close my eyes… No, I can't show weakness.

He storms on, always looking straight ahead as we follow the narrow path along the stone walls marking out the fields. He cuts through the landscape with hands curled tightly into fists. I watch them swing back and forth, wondering what the toughened skin would feel like against me. The thought distracts me from the pain. We're almost there, I can see the tops of the trees lining the back garden.

I stop by the front gate. It's always swinging open into the wild grass where I forget to latch it on my way out. The surprise on his face is comical.

"You live here?" he questions with disbelief. "Is this place safe to live in, it looks ready to crumble," he mutters to himself, eyeing the stone structure dubiously.

"It's home," I reply, my voice sounding soft and worn as I yearn for soft cotton sheets. These are the truest words I've said all day.

He nods once, a sharp acknowledgement. "Give me your phone," he demands again. I'm too tired to argue, so I offer it willingly.

His fingers dance over the screen, he saw me put the code in earlier. He taps away further, then pauses. The familiar sound of a Nokia ringtone radiates from his pocket. Now he has my number.

He tosses my phone back and I barely manage to catch a hold of it. The smirk is back in his face, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "If you start to feel bad, call," he commands. "My number is in there. I'll answer."

I nod, because it's all I can do. I watch his face, his eyes doing the same back, searching for something.

His voice is quieter now. "Go in, get warm and wash this mud off. You'll need to disinfect any cuts. You have a first aid kit?"

I nod again, a ball of worry growing between my lungs, feeling heavy on my heart.

"Go on, then." He grips my elbow and steers me towards the front door. The red paint beckons me. My fingers dig in my pocket for the key.

"Wait," he calls. His fingers dig into his own pockets now. Did he pick up my key?

He pulls out the chocolate bar I dropped. "Eat this, you'll feel better," he offers it to me, brightness in his eyes as he looks for any sign of recognition in my face. The corners of my mouth lift. I got the reference.

He walks away now, confidence in every step as he heads back the way we came, shaking his head a little as he chuckles to himself.

I can still feel the soft smile playing on my lips as shaky fingers find the key and unlock the door, his presence lingering. I can still feel him here.

I avoid the mirror, I don't want to see myself, I don't want this feeling to end. The keys drop back into my pocket, hitting my phone. I tug it out and stare at the screen. The battery is flickering, about to die, but it holds on just long enough for me to make out the name above the number.

Edward.


	5. Chapter 5

I stare at the phone screen for a minute longer, my mind slipping into a peaceful numbness, leaving me wondering what I should do now. An ache along my jawbone calls my attention. I shuffle forward towards the mirror and peer at the muddied creature staring back at me. Her coat is grimy with filth, dirt and decaying leaves, spreading up her legs, over her body, across her face and slicking up her hair on the left side. The right side of her face is starting to swell, with rough scrapes etched across the high cheekbone, and her hands hang limply at her sides – dirty claws clutching a dead mobile phone and chocolate bar. Her eyes glimmer and brighten as she holds onto it tighter.

My mind is shrouded in fog, the lingering effects of the man... of Edward.

_You should move._

Where? I struggle to remember what he said, the fog descending on my memories. The cold stones close in on me too. Warm, I need to get warm. But I want to sleep even more, my eyesight is narrowing, tunnelling down and blurring anything but what's right in front of me. The stairs.

I climb one at a time, my boots leaving chunks of mud and my hands gripping onto the step in front of me.

_One at a time, Bella. You can do this._

My ribs protest at the movement, my knees ache and my jaw, fuck. My jaw is throbbing.

I make it to the top and stumble through the bedroom, clutching cream sheets as I force my body to crawl into the bathroom. My eyes fill with water when I catch sight of the sorry creature in the full-length mirror.

_Don't cry, just focus. You need to get warm, get the mud off._

The bath is a blur as I paw at the taps, everything is shaking, not just my hands. My body is trembling and my teeth clattering. My forehead rests on the side of the bath, breathing in the steam with stuttering breaths. The sobs come without warning, racking my body and shooting pain across my torso.

_Self-pity isn't attractive._

The thought just makes me sob harder.

Hot water half fills the bath but I can't bring myself to move. I just want to sleep. Rest is just what I need. I kick at my boots, shooting clumps of mud across the floorboards and wiping away at tears streaming down my face. They burn hot as they score across my grime-coated skin, making me realise just how cold I am. My coat comes off, sliding down my shoulders and pooling on the floor. I push it aside and start to work on my top, grimacing as my fingers knock against tender ribs. Heavy and sluggish hands pull it up towards my ears, the weight of my head falling forward until it's between my knees. I can feel my conscience slipping as I'm wrapped in a muddy nest with the shirt covering my face. The sound of the water sloshing down the side hole pulls me back, so I fight to get free, sharp points digging into my skull as the shirt comes off. I turn the taps, my joints aching at the effort to stretch my arm out.

Jeans are easier to get off as I use my legs to kick and shimmy.

With just pale skin and sticky mud under the bathroom lights, I tremble closer to the bath and hoist myself up. I whimper at the thought of my cold limbs hitting the hot water. It's going to hurt, but I can't hold my weight up any longer. I groan as my arms shake with the effort. I fell through the woods, but then I was fine, I even walked home – why is this affecting me so much? A small voice in the back of my head whispers something about going into shock.

An arm gives way, plunging into the hot bath with a hiss. It burns as I hold it there, then plunge in the other. My feet are next, tingling and twitching as the water hits. I lower myself in slowly, watching the water crashing up and over the edges of the tub as swirls of brown leech from my skin. I slide in deeper. The water caresses my trembling form, soothing away the cold and the slick. I lean my head back, sharp points digging into my skull again. It takes a full minute to drag my fingers up past my face into the mess, clawing out twigs and stones from my mangled mane. My energy is seeping out of me into the water, the steam singing lullabies as my vision fades. Fingers come to rest on my belly, one place that doesn't feel too sore. My head lifts as I try to remember the last time I ate, but I come up blank.

_The chocolate._

Without thinking, my arms are reaching over the side, lurching me forward as I grasp at the ruined coat and slip my fingers into the pocket.

It takes a few attempts to get the wrapper open. I bring it to my lips, feeling my odd sensation of something so sweet on my tongue. Pain shoots from my jaw, past my ear and into my head as I try to gnaw on the bar. It's too much, so I hold the chocolate as close to the muddy water as I dare. It's not softening fast enough, so I bash it on the side of the tub by the taps, breaking off small chips I can swallow like pills. My stomach churns after being empty for so long but I know that I need the sustenance, something is telling me I will feel better if I eat it.

3 full baths later and I start to feel clean again, doing my best to drag grazed palms over my body to get rid of the mud. My head dunks under and loosens my hair. Shampoo and conditioner are a distant dream, an acre away from me in the cupboard on the other side of the room.

With the mud gone, I start to feel a full picture of the damage done. My face is swelling across the sharp bones of my cheek and jaw, my skull feels tender but careful prodding with shaky fingers doesn't find any wounds. My torso is a mess with bruises and dents all over where I rolled across hidden tree roots and rocks under the leaves, a dark patch over my right ribs causes a fit of panic as the words "internal bleeding" crash across my mind. I cover the patch with my hand and try to breathe deep.

_Get to the first aid kit._

I moan at the thought. I can picture exactly where it is, hidden in the bottom of the wardrobe with only a few plasters left. Most were spent on blisters, papercuts and grazed knees when my clumsiness got the better of me.

The water swirling down the drain makes my head spin as I ever so slowly walk towards to wardrobe, leaning against the walls as my legs threaten to give out beneath me. I fumble with the clasp before finally getting it open. With no energy or patience to rip open the little packets of antiseptic wipes, I grapple at the tube of Savlon cream, ripping off the top and smearing it onto cuts and scrapes, feeling grateful that the sting will keep me awake long enough to drag myself into bed.

My eyes close as I move over the wooden floorboards and under the covers, rolling onto my back to avoid putting pressure on my bruises. Darkness takes over swiftly as I succumb to a dreamless sleep.

***

It's the pain that wakes me up. I've rolled onto my side in my sleep, digging my elbow right into the sore spot over my ribs. The pain intensifies as I slowly pull out of the fog, it burns hot in my face and aches deep in my bones. I struggle to pull myself upright, leaning back onto the pillows. I attempt to make a dash for the first aid box on the floor, but the sudden movement sends me dizzy, my vision disappearing into static for a brief second. I flop back down onto the bed with a shaky exhale. Let's take this slow.

I wait until my breathing returns to normal before gently pushing myself upwards and forwards, wincing as my twisting and contracting jostles my rib cage. I sink to the floor by the box, reaching in and sifting through bandages until I find the painkillers. Paracetamol or ibuprofen? I can't remember which is best for this kind of thing. It doesn't matter though, both boxes tell me I can't take them without food. Fuck, that means getting down the stairs.

I can see my foot in the floor-length mirror as I weigh up my options, a crust of mud still lingering around my ankle. I must not have cleaned myself as well as I thought.

A headache starts to build and I know I need to do something.

_You definitely can't stay here._

Half wishing I could do some yoga to clear my mind, then grimacing at the thought of moving that much, I start creating a list.

Food and painkillers come first, or I'm not going to be able to do anything.

Then I need to clean properly and assess the damage.

After that, the fire needs lighting.

My goal? A cosy makeshift bed on the sofa where I can recoup by the warmth and put the TV on to distract me away from the pain. The dream helps me surge forward. I make it down the stairs, sliding from step to step on my ass, avoiding the dried mud I left here earlier. Or maybe it was yesterday. The sun seems bright but I've no idea what time it is.

No one ever walks by here, but I still cringe slightly as I pull myself upright using the coat hooks and take small shuffles towards the kitchen with my shoulder bag of groceries… completely nude and with all the curtains open.

I wrap the kitchen apron around me, feeling lightheaded and almost amused at the thought of someone seeing me like this.

The smell of Heinz tomato soup on the stove almost brings me to tears again. I can't let this happen again, I MUST take better care of myself. _I told you so._

I slurp down the soup, burning my tongue but loving the way it feels thick and hot in my throat. It makes me realise how thirsty I am, so I lean under the tap and drink the water straight from the source.

Energy renewed, I get upstairs and take the ibuprofen, a vague memory reminding me it will probably be better for the jaw swelling and headache. The bathroom is beyond being a mess, it's complete chaos. Twigs and sediment line the bath with a rusty brown line of scum reminding me I overfilled it and used up far too much hot water. My moving castle definitely needs a Sophie, I muse.

I use the sink and a damp cloth to wipe myself down, starting at my feet and working up to my face. I pull out mud chunks still in my hair and unclog my ears, dipping my head into the water and gently massaging in vanilla shampoo, the scent is soothing.

The marks over my body and face are turning dark purple blue. The swelling on my face has gone down but the skin still feels hot and tender. I massage a little more antiseptic cream into the cuts and grazes, then work on peeling off a few plasters and smoothing them over the deeper grazes on my palms like my mum used to do when I was little. I don't linger on the thought, today is about getting better. I owe myself that.

I start pulling my brush through the gnarly curls but give up a few strokes in. It's clean, that's all that matters. Better to use my energy getting some clothes on. Pyjamas and fluffy socks sing to me from their drawer.

Ignoring the mud-stained comforter, I drag the patchwork quilt from its box under the bed and haul it downstairs and onto the sofa.

Lowering my knees onto the sheepskin I get the fire going then collapse back into the cushions with the TV remote. Choosing Matt Smith's Doctor Who because he's the most light-hearted, I settle down and let my mind drift away with the Time Lord. A warm glowing sensation blooms in my heart as I notice a resemblance in his messy hair.

_Seriously, you're crushing on him already? Such a typical girl. Don't you know we're not in a soppy romance novel._

Shhh, I quiet my thoughts. There's plenty of time for that later, right now I just want to watch and forget.

I don't forget though, and later that day I drift off to sleep on the sofa with thoughts of travelling the universe with green eyes and Nokia ringtones.


	6. Chapter 6

The next day is better. My body still feels like it's laying in a ditch but my mind is recovering. Realising it's Monday, I manage to email my clients and move a few deadlines around, giving myself another day off. Tomorrow I'll need to do at least something if I want to pay for the rent, dentist late fee, excess water I used failing to get clean, plus the cost of rebuying food later this week. But that's a problem for another day, another Bella.

Today's chores are more hands-on. I hold it in for as long as possible but eventually I just have to go. I'd been avoiding using the bathroom and pretending the muddy mess didn't exist.

_That's real mature._

But nature calls.

Once I'm done I start the cleaning, getting out most of the mud clumps and mopping the floors, leaning heavily on the mop. I leave the dried mud stains on the stairs and watermarks in the bath for a day when I have the energy for scrubbing. Next I strip the sheets, gather up still-slimy clothes and empty pockets to get the laundry going. The mobile phone sits heavy in my hand as I start to think back on all that happened. My teeth sink into my lip without my permission as my mind drifts, the sharp pain in my jaw at the nibbling motion brings me swiftly back. I chuck the bloody thing onto my desk, letting it take the brunt of my anger at the pain.

Now I'm downstairs, I take inventory. There are not too many logs left for the fire. There had been a stack of them outside against the far wall of the cottage when I moved in at the end of May, but as the weather rapidly cooled after the summer, I've made a serious dent in my stash. I've no idea where I can get more. Another problem for another day. I stick a post it note on the fridge so I won't forget as I move to start my last task of the day. Food.

There's enough here for a week if I stretch it out. I should be recovered enough by then to handle the walk into town. I stop my thinking right there, focusing on what's in front of me.

I settle on making minestrone, the only recipe I can think of that uses the veg, soup and pasta that survived the fall and is soft enough for my jaw to handle without making me cry. The apples aren't broken but they've been bruised beyond belief, starting to brown and shrink, looking very sorry for themselves in the fruit bowl. I'll stew those down into apple sauce.

I get through the chopping stage and am halfway through cooking the pasta before my mind starts to go back over the events of the last few days. And I let myself go there, because I feel… something light. Something good.

Because despite the mocking, the bruises and the panic, one key detail is now oh so clear.

He is real. He is vibrant and fantastical, but he is real. I'm not going crazy.

That thought alone lifts a weight off my mind, makes me feel free. I can go back to my dreams and adventures without a care, knowing once again, once and for all, what is real and what isn't.

_Sure, that's why you feel so good._

Okay, I'm not being completely honest here. He might have something to do with my good mood. Why that is exactly, I'm still not sure.

It's been a long while since I had a free-flowing conversation like that. Of course, the hard knock to the head probably loosened my tongue a bit, quieting my inhibitions for a little while.

I stir the soup as I think it over. Maybe just having that human interaction was good for me, even if he was an ass for most of it.

_Yeah but that ass was damn fine, don't deny looking._

I try very hard to hold back the smile at that thought, knowing my jaw will kick up a fuss at the movement. It's exactly the kind of thing Jess would say, my one and only high school friend besides Jake. She was great, actually. She could talk enough for both of us. Scratch that, she could talk for the whole of England. On and on she'd go, always having something to say. It was perfect; she needed someone who would listen and not interrupt, I needed someone who wouldn't notice when I drifted away. It worked and we got on fine, made the most of it.

One of my best memories is bringing her home for dinner with Charlie, watching his face in horror as she yammered on through our entire meal was hilarious. Any time her name was mentioned from then on, he would wince and interrupt with "ah bleedin' hell, not that one again" to make me smile. I think he was just glad I had a friend.

_Some friend, she never contacted you again when school was finished._

To be fair, I never contacted her either.

But comparing Jess to Edward just doesn't work. He was just so much more observant. He talked quite a bit with a certain charisma, but we shared quiet moments too. He pulled me in like… like gravity.

I go over what happened one more time, trying to make sense of it, feeling like there's some hidden back story or foreshadowing in one of the scenes that I've missed.

Sigh. What would Katniss have done, I wonder. She would have refused the hospital too, I'm sure of it. But then again, she wouldn't have smacked into a tree in the first place. She'd have stood her ground, fired off a warning arrow then disappeared into the trees.

I try the story again with a fashionable female assassin, a dimension traveller and a teenage necromancer. Still, no one cocks up quite as much as I did.

I even dig back through my memory to older fantasy friends, but the only one who falls like I did ends up down a rabbit hole. She certainly didn't crawl home and cry in the bath about it.

The soup is done, so I swallow my discomfort at reality being so shoddy and divvy it up into bowls marking a week of meals.

I know it's only just gone 4pm but the days are getting so short and the darkness outside is making the sofa feel nervous, so I'd best go comfort it. I settle down and spend a few minutes debating between a few new shows that have popped up over the weekend.

In the end, I just turn the TV off and turn my mind on, letting Katniss take control and show me how my doomed trip into town should have gone.

***

Tuesday is marginally better than Monday. My mind is still bright and positively fizzing with ideas as the light bubbly feeling continues, and the bruises are starting to reach that ugly yellow brown stage – a good sign that my body is on the mend.

But what makes it better also makes it worse. I'm ready to enjoy my new-found lightness with a quick dip into an all-consuming fantasy… but I'm confined to the sofa with a pile of work so high I'll need new hiking boots to reach the top. Focusing is hard, I slip up a lot, but I manage it mostly because every time I get carried away and try to jump up off the sofa to dance, pace or fly away, a swift kick to my ribs brings me crashing back down.

About halfway through the afternoon I stop for my first dose of minestrone, reheating it on the stove impatiently. The mobile phone on the desk catches my eye as it begins to bubble. I pour it into a bowl and sit down at the desk, face to face with the dangerous contraption.

We stare each other down as I think about what to do. I have a number, a name, a bizarre turn of events, and no idea how to hold a proper conversation over a phone. The solution seems simple, ignore it. So why can't I break the stare contest and forget it?

I could text him. Nokia phones can get texts, right? It would be rude not to say thank you. Yes, that sounds like a good reason.

4 times my fingers twitch to grab the phone before I finally do, going over what the text should say in my head and changing my mind again and again.

A deep breath whistles into my lungs. I tap the home button. Nothing. I tap the power button. Still nothing.

The battery is still dead. I haven't charged the bloody thing.

_For fuck sake, Bella!_

With a gruff exhale, I yank open the desk drawer and pull out the charger, plugging it into the wall and jamming it into the phone. I watch it for a few seconds as the screen flashes to life, but the moment is gone. I shove it back into the drawer and close it as far shut as I can.

He probably wouldn't remember me anyway.

***

Wednesday comes and goes much the same. Without the ability to really get lost with both my mind and body, the days seem so dull. Just another repeat like I'm stuck in one of my tiresome sitcom boxsets or staying in a B&B waiting for Punxsutawney Phil to finally keel over.

I can feel my body regaining strength from the wholesome, sugary Heinz and carby pasta shells, but I'm trying to count back to the last day I had some protein and really struggling with it. All that comes up is a recent memory of a pierced pack of chicken fillets strewn over the woodland floor.

I'll admit, he's faded in my memory a little bit as my life returns to my usual solitary routine. His green eyes still sparkle but the little details are missing. Slightly worryingly, he's blending into the background of my fantasy friends rather than the reality bunch.

I'm back upstairs now, sleeping in the creamy comfort of cotton sheets and bathing in a squeaky-clean tub. The bills are just about covered and if I can keep this momentum up I might be able to squeeze in a treat at the end of the month. There are a few new books I've got my eye on.

And then Thursday comes around. The first sign that something has changed is the urge to stretch when I wake, so I roll out the mat and find a beginners practice on YouTube to ease back in. My ribs are a little tender but I managed to run my fingers over them when moisturising, rubbing in the sweet scented cream and mellowing instantly at the sensation. No broken bones, as far as I can tell. My jaw is another matter. The bruise took longer to turn yellow than the others and although the swelling and scrapes are now undetectable, the pain and ache remains. But it is slowly improving, and I take that as a good enough reason to avoid seeking medical help. I'll be fine.

Work goes on the same as ever. Each article written is forgotten as soon as it's accepted by the editors. I run around in my hamster wheel for a few hours more to churn out the last of an ongoing project and then wonder what to do.

Suddenly there are too many possibilities. With the strength to move I'm restless, floating in a circuit around the room as my eyes fall on books and DVDs that don't quite fit the mood I'm in.

I flip open the laptop and power it back up again, Googling a few shows and trying to find something my mind can cling onto. A new trailer catches my eyes, taking me to YouTube, but it's the annoying ad before it that really gets me going.

It's a new song that's over far too soon, leaving me with a trailer that reveals too much for me to want to invest in the full series. I spend the next 10 minutes frustrated as I try to find the song again with just a melody and a few words I picked up amidst the guitar.

There, I got it. Cords snap impatiently as I plug the laptop into the speakers and add the song to a queue of old favourites. I hit play.

It starts quiet, curious, dreamy as I wander around the room, my hands clasped behind my back like his were when we started along the path. I walk a tightrope, letting my hips do the balancing before letting go, the room spinning away from under my feet as bright green lights glow from the ceiling, beaming me up and away from this dismal, dreary day.

My body thrashes away from slimy grasps, my torso once again free to twist and contract, my arms flying independently as I struggle with the aliens. The steady beat of my feet and rhythm strumming through me keep me alive and always one step ahead as I dance around, eyes closed in bliss at my escape. The air feels magnificent as it swirls around me in blurs as I fall back down to earth from the spaceship.

I'm soaring and falling all at the same time as the fantasy morphs with the music and I'm gently swaying in awe of the sights of the solar system, feeling the sun keeping my legs warm as I free-fall gracefully.

A star explodes with a bang, pulling my eyes open. I'm back in the cottage, standing by the fire with arms stretched so far wide, Kate Winslet can only imagine. Something brought me back to earth. I move back to the laptop, feeling my ribs beginning to protest as I come down from my high. I lower the music and wait to see if I imagined it or not.

"Open the fucking door, girl. It's bloody freezing out here."


	7. Chapter 7

I stand dumbstruck for a moment, hearing the fire crackle and the music settle into the background. I knew I'd see him again. In such a small village, the odds of walking past him on the street alone is quite high. I'd imagined passing him in the store, making eye contact, maybe a brief nod and then getting on with my life. He wouldn't want to know me. But this I could never have predicted. Maybe, just maybe, I'm secretly pleased.

"I know you're in there, I can see the smoke from your chimney."

Willing my feet to move, my brain still 100 miles up in space, I get to the door and unlock it to let the agitated voice in.

Cold air swirls into my toasty warm sanctuary, sending goosebumps up my arms and crunching my shoulders up to my ears. He brushes me aside before I can fully take him in with my eyes, his hands carrying 3 familiar heavy plastic bags filled with groceries.

"Finally," he mutters as he welcomes himself inside, glancing around to locate the kitchen and making a beeline towards it.

"Here are your groceries."

"My groceries?" my mind still too far behind to make sense of what's happening.

"You owe me £20."

"Twe-"

I can't get any further before he interrupts with a gruff voice. "Are you going to repeat everything I say?"

I shake my head, even though he can't see me with his back turned. My purse is where it belongs in the newly cleaned shoulder bag. I grab it and take a few nervous steps closer, noticing for the first time how low the ceiling is in my cottage. The signature leather jacket pulls taught over his muscular shoulders as he starts reaching into cupboards, grumbling when he sees them empty and rustling through the flimsy plastic bags.

His presence here is odd. The rustic comfort of the worn patchwork quilt on the sofa and the old creaking structure with solid floorboards and low beams, doesn't quite know what to do with this unexpected intrusion. His hair is a mess again from the cold and wind.

I move even closer, wanting to see the texture of his hair. He's too busy unpacking things into the freezer compartment to notice.

There's not enough cash in my purse. Shit.

"Uhm… I…"

_Yep, back to your old socially inept state._

He swivels around to face me, his eyes more emerald than I remembered as he towers over me. Cold air radiates off his body in the confined space, the heavy scent of him lingers around me. Spices and musk with oak, woodchips and old leather. His face is pale but the expression on it is dark. I've barely said two words and I can feel intensity rolling off him, anger too.

"Iveonlygotfifteenincash" the words tumble out.

"What?"

I hold out the notes. "That's all I've got."

He makes no move to take them, his eyes are running over my face and reading invisible words there.

When he's finished his expression is unreadable.

"Then I'll take £15 and your name," he finally answers. His voice is lower, quieter.

I'm cringing hard inside. I've failed at the most basic level of human interaction. The first thing you're supposed to do is exchange names.

"Unless you're happy with being 'girl'?" he continues after my silence, a sparkle and challenge lighting his eyes.

I'm pretty sure he could get me to do anything he wanted by calling me 'girl' in that dark commanding voice of his.

"Bella," I eventually get my lips to move, thanking the stars that I didn't stutter.

"Well, Bella," the way his lips wrap around my name does strange things to me, "there's ice-cream in the freezer. Why don't you start unpacking the rest." It's not a question, not in the way he says it.

He steps around me, giving me a wide berth as he leaves me to it. I watch him from the corner of my eye as I start rearranging what he's already unpacked and delve into the grocery bags, the cold from the fridge chilling my fingers. He wanders towards the fireplace, scanning the mess littered over my desk and browsing the shelves. He pauses to shake up a snow globe, turning Detroit Zoo upside down and back again before returning it a few inches from where it should be.

There's bacon and sausages in one of the bags and I can't help but rejoice as they join the chicken in the fridge. I wonder how he managed to get all of this for £20. Maybe Rose got him a discount. Maybe she's his girlfriend. I don't like that thought very much, but it doesn't matter, I'm quickly distracted.

He's taken the leather jacket off, slung it over the back of the sofa along with a dark blue scarf I hadn't noticed. He stands by the fireplace, warming his hands in the glowing light and tilting his head slightly to read the spines of the books on the shelf next to him. The sharp line of his jaw arches upwards as he tilts, revealing his neck, strong and defined. His shoulders are not so drastically broad now the jacket is off, his figure is firm and muscular but in a natural way, not a bodybuilder way. He wears a dark grey hoody with a black shirt underneath, over worn dark blue jeans, understated. It's not the fashion that draws me, it's the textures. The soft give of the jumper as it pulls over the toned torso battling with the roughened fingertips and sturdy jeans. Pale skin under his jaw is just the right place for me to bury my face and breathe him in, feeling his pulse under my lips and the bite of the zipper against my body.

My fingers touch something papery in a grocery bag, dragging my attention away from Adonis. It's a drawing, a kid's drawing of a witch. There's no mistaking what she is, with her pointed hat and broomstick in hand. Above, in wonky writing, it reads 'get welll soo n witch' in brightly coloured letters.

"It's a gift. She heard about what happened and made that for me to give you." His voice travels across the room, breaking through the quiet music still strumming away. I stare at it for a little longer, my face blank as I'm not sure what the protocol is here. It's new territory.

"Not really a 'babies and children' person, are you," he chuckles.

I shrug. I've not really thought about it. I pin it to the fridge with magnets. That feels like the right thing to do with kid's drawings.

I want to ask if it's his daughter, if he's got a family already. If he's married. But there are more immediate questions to ask.

"Why did you bring me groceries?"

He doesn't look up from the shelves he's perusing, the fantasy DVD collection this time, as he answers. "You seem like the kind of person who can't take care of themselves very well. When you didn't pick up the phone I assumed the worst."

That stings. I do very well on my own. I'm self-employed, I live by myself, I've survived this far perfectly fine without his help.

His eyes flash up now to take in my expression. "The monsters and murderers could have gotten you," he mocks.

"I thought we agreed women were monsters and murderers too. Didn't you fear for yourself coming here?" I challenge back, the words flowing a little better as he begins to grate on my tolerance, which is already shortened by the growing ache in my jaw from all this talking.

"Nah, I saw the way you were eyeing up Rose the other day. Figured I'm not your type for a quick murder." I can hear the smile in his voice without looking.

Now I stutter. "I… n… No, I was just looking at her necklace, and her… I guess her skin was, sort of nice.

_Great choice of words there. Defensive too. And of course, you sound completely guilty of being in denial._

"And I can take care of myself perfectly fine, thank you very much," adding a silent 'screw you' in my mind.

He turns to give me a look of disbelief at that. "Sure, that's why the roof looks like it's about to cave in and the garden is a fucking nightmare. And it's pretty obvious from your growing fantasy library that you don't get out much. You're just a child playing adult, running through the woods with more ice-cream and chocolate than sense." He gets angrier as he continues, the worlds flowing faster and landing heavier as they hurtle through the air.

I hold back the urge to spit the words _I'm not a child _back at him, knowing full well that will only make me seem more childish. My eyes burn. Great.

I pull my face away from him, finding something interesting to stare at on the wall, chin shaky but held high nonetheless. The movement pulls my hair back over my shoulder and reveals my bruised jaw to his angry eyes.

"That doesn't look good. I fucking told you to call if it got bad," his voice is more dangerous than I've ever heard it before. I barely have time to register it before he's storming across the room with murderous eyes and clenched fists.

I yelp as he grips me with rough hands pinching my arms, fingers overlapping as he squeezes my bones, any shred of emotion good or bad at seeing him is drowned in a flood of panic as he traps me and bears down. I'm struggling to get free but he holds tighter, pain shooting through my arms. Air rushes past my ears as I thrash around to get free, his voice is muffled and far away. I twist my head, my hair flying as I try to get away, adrenaline in my veins.

He pulls me roughly across the room, pinning my body against the wall by the desk so he can keep me still with his weight and have his hands free. One wraps around my throat, the side of his forefinger lining up just under my bruised jaw and his thumb brushing over my lower lip back and forth. The other hand winds up into the hair at the back of my neck, imbedding his long fingers into my strands to angle my face how he wants, keeping me still.

His green eyes are vivid with concern and when my frantic eyes finally focus on his lips I work out that he's mouthing my name, but a soft wailing whimper is all that fills my ears. I realise that it's me making the noise and try to will my mouth closed.

"It's alright, Bella, shhhh." His voice is soft like velvet, cooing and coaxing a wild animal closer.

His thumb continues to brush over my trembling lip and the long fingers woven into my hair massage little circles into my skull at the sweet spots behind my ears.

"I just need to check your face is alright, will you let me?" he waits patiently, his fingers still rubbing and soothing as he gazes into my eyes, urging me to trust him. I can feel his hot breath blowing gently on my face with every exhale, sending a wave of his scent over my senses.

He smiles gently when I whisper "okay" and lean further into his touch. His fingers sweep back and forth over the line of my jaw, his other hand still cradling the back of my head. He puts gentle pressure on it as he traces the bone. Next his hand stretches right around my throat, his eyes pleading with me not to freak out. His thumb and middle finger reaching the hinges of my jaw, rubbing tiny circles under them.

"Open," he commands, still gentle. His eyes are mesmerising. I open my mouth, my eyes tightening ever so slightly at the pain. He notices but says nothing. "Close slowly" his voice no louder than a murmur. He watches intently as my teeth come together with a click.

He nods, once, then returns his gaze to my eyes. "There's no swelling and from what I can tell, your jaw is still aligned so I doubt it's dislocated. Just stick to soft foods and you should be alright. It looks worse than it is."

"Why?" I ask him, trying to find answers in the emerald eyes while he's in a calm mood.

He knows I'm not asking about the soft foods. "Just being neighbourly," he answers. It's bullshit but I don't call him out on it. His actions are kind, gentle and even when he's been rough, chasing me or grabbing me, his intentions have always turned out to be golden. But he's so bitter, so angry, his voice bites and his eyes fill with rage at the slightest things, leaving me dizzy and confused.

I want to know why, what is he torn over, how he can have so much chaos inside? But I don't know how to formulate the right question, I don't know how to translate feelings into words well enough, so I let it slip away.

"It's a good thing I called out or you'd have smashed your nose against that tree and definitely broken it," he muses. His eyes have lightened, returning to their usual sparkle when they mock me. His hand rests lightly on my throat, the other growing still in my hair.

I find my voice and send back a counter. "If you hadn't called out to me I would have seen the tree and dodged it."

He doesn't like that idea very much, but he allows it with a curt "Maybe."

He leans forward, his nose almost brushing mine as our eyes meet again. "You'll be just fine," he tells me, warm breath washing over me and his voice returning to its normal tone and texture.

The loss of his hands on me as he backs away is shocking. The rough texture and warmth felt so natural, so calming as his movements changed from aggressive to comforting. My skin prickles as cool air hits it.

He reclines back on the sofa, his eyes still meeting mine. The calm after the storm. Everything is quiet now, the music stopped a while ago and the embers have burnt down low. I move forward to build up the fire again, feeling his eyes on my back.

I don't know what will happen now, but I do know that I don't want him to leave. Not just yet.

"Tea?" I offer, trying to keep the hope out of my voice.

"Yes, I'm gasping for one," his voice is perfectly even, not giving anything away either.

The familiar ritual, the mugs, the kettle, the milk, it helps.

I sit down at the other end of the sofa, keeping my back straight and super self-conscious of how I must look right now. He's the complete opposite, relaxed back and letting the cushions curve around his spine, the mug resting on one knee like that's where he always rests it.

He tugs the Nokia out of the pocket in his jeans, waking up the black and white screen to check the time. "When this is finished, I'll be off," he says with a matter-of-fact tone, taking the first sip of his tea.

A million questions spring to mind.

"Okay then," is all I manage.

"Tell me something about you, Bella" he requests, watching the flames begin to grow and lick the new logs in the fireplace.

"What do you want to know?" There's not much to tell him, really. The honest truth is I spend a great deal of time being anyone but Bella, and anywhere but here. I've travelled the universe, I've lived, I've lost, I've loved… but he can't know that. He'd think I'm a nutcase.

"Why did you move to Wales?" There's not much curiosity in his voice, I get the sense he's asking because it's the first obvious and polite question to ask.

That makes forming my answer easy. "It's cheap, beautiful and quiet but still within a few hours travel distance of civilisation." A generic answer to a generic question.

His next question doesn't stray too far from the generic either. "What's your favourite colour?"

But it throws me off track. No one has asked me that since my school years, it's such a juvenile question. I don't know what my favourite colour is. My mind starts to hunt for answers but looks in the wrong places, questioning what brave heroines and adventurers would say.

I've taken too long to answer, he's noticed and now he's watching, finally appearing curious.

"You think too much. Just answer what comes to mind," is his great advice.

"Okay, then I guess it would be cream," I answer nervously, thinking of my bed upstairs and how right now I wish I was hiding under it instead of feeling so awkward.

He nods. "And you like sweet foods, fantasy films and novels," he adds.

I'm almost too afraid to ask, too afraid to initiate, but curiosity gets the better of me. "What about you?"

He thinks for a moment. "I came here for work, my favourite colour is dark blue, I like Italian food, long car journeys and most of the DVDs in your collection." With that, he slurps down the last of his tea and hands the mug to me.

I watch like a lemon, just sitting there with a mug in each hand as he pulls on his leather jacket, a slither of skin flashing as his arms lift and t-shirt rises.

He walks to the door and I finally stand up, quickly placing the mugs on the mantlepiece and following him with slow steps.

We stand by the coat hooks as he pauses and looks at the floorboards, his eyebrows furrowed and his hand resting on the door handle. He looks up.

"I'm sorry, if I hurt you," he says with his eyes and his voice. It's sincere.

I don't know what to say. He **did **hurt me, I can tell my arms will be bruised by tomorrow, and that's not okay. You don't do that to people you've just met. I don't want to – I shouldn't have to – forgive him. So I don't.

But I can't say that to him, not with the way he's looking at me right now. Not after the quiet, the calm and comfort we shared. I don't want to scare him away because I want that again. And again and again and again.

So, I say the only thing I can think of.

"Thank you for the groceries, thank you for thinking of me." I think about what he's done for me a little harder so the gratefulness will show in my smile.

He nods, seeming content. An understanding has passed between us. We're okay.

He turns and lets himself out, another blast of cold air hitting me as he departs. I run to the window and watch him walk down the path, shut the gate and head back towards the village.

The silence in the room hurts my ears without his presence here, so once he's finally out of view I turn the music back on, finding something I can drift around to without spending too much energy. The warm air tingles in a new way as it flows over me. I sway and swoop around, my fingers brushing along the back of the sofa and finding the blue scarf he left draped there, the proof that this was real.


	8. Chapter 8

The cold is seeping through my clothes as I lay flat on my back in the valley, apples strewn all over the place. Leaves whisper in my hair as the cool wind stirs them. He's coming, they tell me.

There's mud slick over my skin, sucking away the heat of my body as I lay here, unable to move. _He's coming, he's coming._

A shadow grows by the edge of the valley, a figure emerging from the trees. He steps closer, walking so smoothly it's like he's sweeping across the ground, hovering just inches above the dead leaves. As he reaches the clearing, he stops, lingering by an old oak tree with agonised twisted tree limbs reaching out for help. A hand comes to rest on the tree trunk. I can't see his face, just the sense of his presence. And then he's gone, melting into the ground with a soft sigh.

The earth starts moving around me, it groans and trembles, releasing tiny buds and fresh emerald leaves. They unfurl around me, some shooting high up above while others stay close to the ground, blooming quickly into snow white flowers. I can feel ivy tendrils growing and curling around my legs, these green tentacles binding me to the earth as I start to feel more buds bursting from the thawed ground beneath my limp body. They dig in, my body bending to accommodate them as much as the ivy restraints will allow. They push on through me, bursts of light shattering my spine and weaving through my organs. Flowers push their way between each rib, trying to reach the light above.

I can feel something growing in my throat, choking its way up. I hold it for as long as I can before my mouth falls open and tendrils start to emerge, crawling and groping my face as they reach for the light.

And then, I wake up.

Hands instantly come to my throat, probing and soothing as my erratic breath bursts free of my lungs. I'm still here, in my bed, in my home. My eyes adjust to the very early morning light, scanning the ominous bulging shadow shapes around the room.

It was an odd dream, from what I can recall. It's slipping away already, but the valley was clear in my mind. An involuntary shiver takes over my body. I curl up closer on my side and tug the comforter to cover my neck again, drifting back to a more restful sleep.

It's Friday and to be honest, I'm all over the place. Last night's dream was worryingly creepy until I made it downstairs mid-morning and remembered watching a cerebral sci-fi show in the evening, where flowers literally bloomed from people's mouths.

Even with that mystery solved, I'm still restless. Yesterdays events are beyond bizarre and I just can't make sense of them. It seems the more time I spend with Edward, the more questions I have. My arms aren't nearly as bruised as I thought they would be, so that's something at least.

He's the first person I've really engaged with since moving here. I use that as my excuse to justify why I'm thinking about him all the time.

His scarf remains slung over the back of the sofa. I haven't moved it yet. Every now and then an urge washes over me to pick it up and wrap it around my own neck, replacing his rough hands with dark blue comfort. But that would be weird, right?

Despite his anger, his violence, his mocking and his lack of patience, he strikes me as a good person. Or part of a good person – something inside him is at war. Yet I feel safe around him. Irrational, I know. I want to be near him again, I want to know more, because despite all that's happened I still don't know who he is. Not really. I mean, everyone likes Italian food. Who doesn't like pizza and pasta? His answers gave away nothing.

The worst thing of all this is that I have no idea where we stand. The way we interacted, for lack of a better word, was so odd. At times he teased me like an old friend would, next he's talking to me like I'm a child, and finally, thrillingly, he held me like a lover. So, which is it? What is this? The beginning of a friendship?

I go over the same thought process several times through menial daily chores before I can say for definite that I don't want that. I'm not looking for a friend.

I don't know how he feels. I can't know. His mind is a complete mystery. But I have experienced his moods and I know for a fact that something about me brings out strong emotions in him, just like he does to me. That thought comforts me. It's enough for me to feel content, like I've finally worked at least some small detail out of the mess.

What gnaws at my mind through the entire day, through all of this, is the fact that the ball – or scarf in this case – is definitely in my court. It's my move.

I don't want to think about it, but I can't stop. Even now, when I should be either finishing work or enjoying a fantasy afternoon, I'm sprawled over the sofa thinking about Edward. My fingers absentmindedly pluck at the buttons running up the side of my soft stretch-cotton wrap shirt.

Willing myself to stop thinking about Edward for just 5 minutes, I lay my hand flat on my rib cage and close my eyes. Shutting off one sense and letting the others grow. I listen intently to the crackle of the fire as my hand rises and falls with every breath pushed through lips pursed with concentration. I listen further, stretching my range out of the cottage and through the trees, sensing their trepidation as the winds change minutely to give a warning of the weather to come. I push further still, over the trees, the valleys and lakes until the earth begins to level out and the dark grey of the sea barks at me from a pebbled beach shore. The wind whistles around me playfully as I look out from the cliff edge, watching the flash of the lighthouse circle round and round.

Rhythmic buzzing pulls me sharply back. Bees buzz around inside the drawer of my desk, battering against the wood to get out. I pull open the drawer and reach in to pull out the vibrating mobile phone, now fully charged. I unplug it and move over to the sofa before working myself up to unlock it.

It buzzes again in my hand. 2 messages waiting for me now.

The first reads:

_It seems you have something of mine._

And the second:

_Can you bring it into the village? Just leave it with Rose._

Now, the obvious answer would be "ok" but I can sense an opportunity here. We're texting, using written words, not spoken. My territory.

_How long did it take you to type that on your Jurassic Nokia?_

My thumb hovers for a moment, hesitating as I reread it, then hit send. Then I go sort out some lunch, giving the Cheshire Cat a run for his money with my grin because whatever angry reply he's going to send back is going to take a while to type. This is too good.

I'm halfway through a sandwich when the reply comes through. It really did take him that long.

_Hilarious. Just leave it with Rose, I'll get it._

Even over text his voice sounds sharp and sarcastic. I mull over what to reply back as I finish lunch, but another buzz beats me to it.

_Only come if you're feeling up to it. And wrap up warm, wear the scarf if you must._

That's the Edward I want to know better. He must have typed like lightening to send that one so fast.

The scarf is wrapped around my neck before I even think of replying. It smells like him with that musky woody oak and spice scent, like cardamom and pure man. I snuggle down and nestle my nose in it. It's not as soft as it looked, it's actually a little rough and scratchy like it's been through the wash a few too many times.

_Okay, tomorrow?_

My thumbs are flying over the screen now.

_Sure_

That's settled then.

My move has been made and I've secured myself a full 24 hours with the scarf. Not bad, Bella, not bad.

The rest of the day flies by and before long the evening has come around. I'm working my way through his vanilla ice-cream and re-watching an old show before I immerse myself in the next season. The scarf is still wrapped around me, protecting me from the nerves threatening to take over when I remember my job tomorrow – returning the scarf to Rose. She intimidates me. Or at least, the Rose in my head does. Daydreams warp memories, one moment she was kind and polite while scanning groceries and the next minute she's laughing cruelly the second I leave the store.

I'm also reluctant to give up the scarf. I want an excuse to get to know him better and that means having a reason to see him. Curiosity is keeping me up late, wondering why he is like he is. Rough one moment, smooth the next. He's the best fantasy I've had to transfix on in years, except he's real. Once the scarf is back I won't have a reason to talk to him again. But I feel like I owe him. Twice he's done something for me without expecting anything back. Well, besides £20 but I'm convinced the groceries cost more than that. I owe him, even if he has been a complete ass at least 50% of the time we've spent together. Maybe bringing the scarf back will ease some of his anger towards me.

_His anger and roughness turns you on. Don't forget that part._

I try not to think about that but fail miserably. My teeth chew my lip as I wonder what that means. It probably says more about me than it does about him.

I go over the feeling of his fingers around my throat again, noticing how my body reacts. Muscles tighten and goosebumps scurry up the back of my neck, running away from the heat building somewhere lower. I ignore it, pushing my face back into the dark blue comfort.

I eventually drift to sleep around midnight, curious but now peaceful as I listen to the pitter patter of rain drops on the window.

The temperature has dropped since the last time I left the cottage, a week ago today when that fateful trip into the village spun my head around. Literally. I savour the moment, my coat pulled on tightly, fingerless gloves keeping my hands cosy and the blue scarf still wrapped around my neck. His scent is starting to fade from it… maybe I shouldn't have had it next to me on the pillow as I slept. I didn't want to put it down though.

The voice in the back of my head that would usually tell me I'm being pathetic around about now is silent. It's going to be a good walk regardless of what happens today I decide, the fresh air rejuvenating my body as it sears down my throat like fresh peppermint.

I make my way through empty cities and burning plains, taking the long route around radioactive hot spots and being careful where I place my feet so as not to get stuck in any sink holes. A barren world abandoned and desolate but beautiful as nature begins to reclaim it. I feel at home here, as dangerous as it is. The power of humanity is staggering and the effects of it are overwhelming to behold.

Concrete pavement welcomes me back to civilisation before I can take the fantasy anywhere new. I bookmark it for further exploration on the way home.

I walk to the SPAR.

And then I keep on walking.

Nerves keep getting the better of me. I end up by the dentist and take it as a sign I should rebook that appointment. The receptionist doesn't appear to remember me. Or maybe she's just good at keeping her thoughts off her face. Either way, I'm thankful that she's spared my blushes and not called me out on last week's disappearing act. They don't have any open spots until the new year, her nasal voice informs me. That's fine, it was just a routine check-up. I wouldn't want anyone going near my teeth right now anyway, the lingering bruise on my jaw currently hidden by my hair would elicit too many questions I can't answer.

I walk slowly back to the SPAR then take the scarf off before I enter. Folding it neatly and then refolding it.

_Quit stalling._

She's there behind the counter when I finally push through the door, looking busy as she rattles something around out of sight. I will my steps further, each squeal against the floor bursts my ear drums.

I stand by the till, in front of her and to the left a little, the scarf held in my hands. She's not looked up yet.

"Hi," I manage to rasp out.

Blue eyes meet mine, curious and surprised. She says nothing, her hands paused mid-air, grasping 2 bottles of nail polish.

"Edward said I could leave this with you." I place the scarf on the counter and push it towards her.

"This is his?" her surprise sounds genuine.

"Yeah," I don't know what else to say, feeling awkward as my gaze returns to my boots.

She huffs. "Does he think I'm his housekeeper or somethin'," she mutters as she drops the nail varnish and pulls the scarf towards her.

"Sure, I'll see he gets it," she pauses, not seeming finished with her sentence but not sure how to continue either. "Y'know he's usually popping in for a drink this time of day, if you wanted to wait you could catch him." She watches me carefully and waits for my response, as if what I say next is the most important thing in the world.

"Okay then, sure," I glance around as she goes back to her nail polish, seemingly satisfied with my reply.

The last time I was here, I stood there. That means Edward was standing about here, by the Pringles. This new knowledge doesn't shed any light on what their shared smirk was about.

I pretend to browse the shelves while I wait, hyper aware of Rose watching me from the counter. Every now and then she looks like she's going to say something, and then she looks down again.

I do a full circuit of the store and am almost back to the Pringles when she slips off her chair and disappears round the back. She returns pushing a swivel desk chair and calls over to me, now back over by the chocolate bars.

"Hey, come sit. My manager's out so it's fine." She wheels the chair behind the counter, half hidden by the lotto display.

"Just don't tell Mike, he'll flip," she gestures back towards the office. "I'm sure Edward won't be long." With that, she goes back to her nails. She has a whole manicure system set up behind the counter here, along with an iPod sellotaped to the till, paused halfway through a song.

We must sit there for half an hour in silence. She plays her music when the store is empty, a pop Christmas song with a catchy chorus she hums as she files down her nails. Her fingers flash to turn it off whenever a customer walks in. My body relaxes as the cheerful music reminds me we're getting close to that time of year. On this side of the counter, with Rose seemingly on my side rather than in front of me, I can feel my mind starting to drift away.

"You're Bella, right?" she pulls me back to the present.

I nod. She doesn't need to introduce herself with her nametag already pinned to her shirt.

"How'd you meet Eddie?" she says the name with a smirk.

"Um, I dropped some groceries and he picked them up." God that sounds lame.

_Not as lame as the truth, though._

I don't think she believes me, but she doesn't say anything. The nerves return as I start to realise she's judging everything I say and do, measuring me up to some test I won't pass.

The bell rings across the room, the door opens, the music stops, and then I stop. He hasn't seen me yet, I'm hidden behind the lottery tickets in case Rose's manager wanders in, but I can see him through the blue opaque plastic.

Rose looks at me, her face telling me to get off the chair. I slip off and grab the scarf, sliding past Rose and around the counter.

He smiles like he's happy to see me, one corner of his mouth pulling up and those dark green eyes sparkling like usual. Then his eyes wander over to Rose and his face freezes. Some kind of silent conversation dances between them and after a few moments it's over, leaving Rose smug behind the counter and Edward's eyes back on me. More guarded but still bright.

"You survived the walk here, it's a miracle," he teases as he takes the scarf from my hands and wraps it around his neck. He grabs 3 bottles of coke from the refrigerator and avoids Rose's watchful eyes as she runs them through the till.

A blush spreads over my cheeks when I realise I'm just standing here watching them. My task is done, I should have left when he took the scarf.

"Come on, then." He beckons me as he walks past and out the store. I follow, wondering what I'm supposed to say now.

"Rose didn't scare you off, did she?" His voice almost seeming nervous as his long strides take us back down the high-street.

"No, she didn't say much," I admit as he passes me one of the coke bottles and gestures for me to open it.

"That's good, she knows where all the bodies are buried," he chuckles.

"Is she your, um…" the cold bottle numbs my hands and gives my eyes something to focus on.

"Friend? Yes, she is. What is it to you?" his eyes are sparkling, telling me he's in a mocking mood and not angry at my question.

"Just curious," is my brilliant response. At least it's kind of true.

He pauses as we reach the corner. "Thanks for the scarf, I wasn't sure you'd be up to the walk."

He's waiting for me to say something.

_It's now or never._

"Are we friends?" I'm instantly cringing at the juvenile sound of the question.

"Is that what you want?" he deflects my question with his own, the intensity of his eyes as he leans closer rendering me speechless.

He looks away after a moment, his gaze on the end of the high-street towards the touristy end of the village. "I might not be a good friend for you, Bella. If you'd been paying attention to anything that's happened the past week, you'd know that."

24 hours of imagining how this would go and this is close to one of the worst scenarios I pictured. The hurt makes me angry.

"You don't always know what's best for me, you hardly know me. And I hardly know you."

"But you want to change that?" he challenges me.

I didn't think this would be so hard. Trying to find a reason to see him again without telling him the truth.

_And what is the truth? You like what you've seen of him. Not in a friend kind of way._

My silence seems to break him. He sighs. "Speaking of friends, I need to get this back to Emmett," he lifts the second coke bottle and gestures down the high-street.

"Walk with me, I'll tell you anything you want to know."


	9. Chapter 9

**Note: thank you all so much for reading this far and leaving reviews! I've never written anything like this before, so you'll have to bear with me. The good news is that I have a rough plan of where this is going and the determination to see it through to the end… the bad news is, real life calls me away so you might not get an update over the weekend. RE: a chapter in Edward's POV, just be patient. That's all I'll say.**

The coke bottle in his hand twists from side to side rhythmically as we keep walking, past the road that leads me to the woods and further down the high-street.

I think for a moment, letting 101 questions swirl around my mind. Not wanting to keep him waiting, I pluck one out at random.

"Why do you have a Nokia? It's 2019."

"Apple are taking their sweet time fixing my iPhone. Next." His voice is gruff like he doesn't want to be sharing personal details, but at least he's not angry. Not yet.

"What were you doing in the dentist that day?" I really want to ask if he was standing outside my home, watching me last Friday, but I know I can't so I sidestep around it.

He looks at me like I just dribbled on my shirt. "That's your question?" He shakes his head. "I had an appointment, why else would anyone be there."

He's starting to get irritated.

_Don't poke the bear._

"Where did you grow up?" It seems like a safer question, one that has nothing to do with me.

"Cambridge, you?"

I should have seen that coming.

"Romford." We needed to be close to London for Charlie's job.

He says nothing, both of us trying to think about what that means. Our walk comes to a sudden stop and I almost crash right into him.

"This is it." He gestures across the street to one of the tourist shops, the red dragon flying proudly in the window with trinkets and souvenirs of all kinds lining the shelves.

"You live here?"

"No, I work here." He crosses the street.

I hesitate, am I supposed to follow? That didn't feel like the end of a conversation… but nothing is normal about this man, so what do I know.

"You coming?"

The sign on the door tells me they're closed until Easter, but it's unlocked as he pushes through, catching it with his foot to hold it open for me. It's warm inside.

I've never been in here but I've seen through the window a few times. Figurines line the shelves, intricately carved boxes, stuffed toys and pretty much any kind of Welsh memorabilia you can imagine. Nothing's in order, the entire shop looks like a hurricane passed through.

A laptop is open on the desk, looking like a miniature model compared to the burly man standing behind it. His arm is the size of my waist.

The door closes behind me and I follow Edward closer. The huge guy beams at us as we get near.

"Did she say anything?" He asks giddily, his voice deep and booming in the quiet shop.

For a moment, I think he's talking about me.

"Nah, same as always. Went back to her claws the second the till closed." He's talking about Rose.

His face falls minutely, then he shrugs and his eyes turn to me. "Who's this?"

I open my mouth to answer but he beats me to it. "This is Bella," he says with nonchalance. My open mouth closes like I'm a gawping fish.

_Another great first impression._

He gives no further explanation, just places the coke bottle earmarked for Emmett by the laptop and heads into the back of the shop. I follow automatically, feeling Emmett's eyes on me, wide and slightly childlike. I smile at him nervously as I pass, trying to remember my manners.

The back room is filled with bright lights illuminating a work desk. All manner of tools surround us, the sharp blades of a saw glinting at me with a crooked grin. He tugs off the scarf and leather jacket, hanging them on the back of his chair.

"What exactly a-"

"Shhh" he interrupts my next question. "Just wait."

So, I stand there and wait, starting to get hot in my winter coat and wondering what we're waiting for.

A bang from behind me makes me jump out of my skin. The sound of a fizzing coke bottle and hurried steps are followed by Emmett's deep voice. "Every motherfucking time."

Edward laughter fills the room with echoing noise as he leans back in the chair. "That never gets old," he chuckles to himself.

He gestures to a chair across the room, so I drag it towards the desk and sit down next to him. Not too close, though. I'm enjoying the aroma of fresh woodchips mixed with biting metal and the throat-catching varnish.

"You make the souvenirs," I realise, as he picks up what looks to be a wooden love spoon, a Welsh tradition and one that the tourists undoubtedly love.

"We stock up in the winter, sell in the summer," he explains. "You work from home?" he asks, but both of our eyes are focused on watching him work over the slight piece of wood, filing it down here and there until it's smooth.

"Yeah, I write. Corporate stuff mostly. Websites and brochures, y'know. I can work anywhere there's a WiFi connection."

The way his hands are moving is mesmerising. His longer fingers are as nimble as they are rough. I could watch this all day, I realise.

"Next question," he reminds me.

I pull off my coat and gloves while I think of what to ask. "You came to Wales for work," I remember him telling me that.

"That's not a question," he retorts.

I wait patiently, hoping he'll elaborate. Half a spoon later, he does.

"I came here for a summer job Emmett advertised years ago, making these damn love spoons for the tourist crowd. With Emmett's Welsh charm behind the counter and my work on the shelves, we made a killing. So, I never left." He tells the story like it's simple, like it makes complete sense.

"Emmett's your friend," I state the obvious, more to myself than to him.

"You've lost the concept of a question," he reminds me. His voice is quieter as he works, calmer. I lean back into the chair, pulling my legs up beneath me to get comfy while I watch him work back and forth, sanding out minute bumps and rough edges my untrained eyes can't detect.

"And Rose, she's your friend too." Non-questions seem to get better answers out of him, I realise.

"Yes, she's a friend." He thinks for a moment longer. "She's got fire," he smiles as he says this, unaware of the fire now in me at his words. He thinks I'm so weak, so wet and flimsy, I realise.

"How do I qualify to be your friend, then?" his eyes turn to me when I ask, hearing the bite in my voice. I keep mine focused on his hands.

"I suppose you already are," his voice is quiet and musing but with a rough edge underneath hiding from me, "returning scarves and replacing groceries, those are the things friends do for each other, aren't they?

"You didn't have to pay me for the food immediately. It was more of a reminder that you owed me, I was kind of joking when asked for £20." His words shedding more light on why he stared at me when I handed him the notes. Another social nuance that passed me by.

He stops working on the spoon, turning it one way and another to inspect his work before placing it back down on the worktop and opening a drawer next to him, rummaging around for whatever tool he needs next.

"You're not very friendly towards me, though." Another obvious statement, but one that I just had to say out loud, to feel it come from my lips.

I lean forward and take hold of his hand in both of mine, the warmth and the roughness feeling just like I'd imagined, but better. The electric current running between us sparks. Maybe it's the warmth of the room going to my head or the sugar rush of the coke. I lift it higher off the desk, his hand heavy but moving willingly as I pull it towards me. His whole body turns, knees brushing mine as our eyes meet once again. I place his heavy hand back on my throat, feeling the rough pads of his fingertips scratch against my burning skin. Instinctively, the nimble fingers grip my throat lightly, his hand curving to fit my jugular in the palm of his hand. He's not hurting me, his hand is just resting there, feeling my breath go in and out. His eyes darken but still he remains silent.

"Friends don't do this," I whisper and let go of his hand. It's his move.

He lingers on my throat for what feels like an eternity, the pulsing of blood intensifying as his fingers probe the sensitive skin. His gaze drops from my eyes to his hands, his breath swirling raggedly from his parted lips as he begins to move, slowly letting gravity pull his hand down my neck. Fingers splay out to dip into my collarbones as his hand moves lower and lower until it rests on my sternum, low enough to feel my heartbeat fluttering but not dipping under my top. The high curves of my breasts swell against the lower edge of his palm with every inhale.

I hold back a groan, feeling blood rush to my cheeks but not from embarrassment. The feeling of his rough skin slipping over me is unbelievably sensual, the hardened texture is sublime. He must be able to feel my heart speeding up as desire builds.

"You should go," his words shatter the silence like the first low grumble of thunder.

"The light is fading, you need to start heading back," he elaborates, his voice tight and restrained.

In less than a second, my perspective flips and what was a caressing hand turns into a restraining one, pressing against my sternum to stop me moving closer. Any work we'd made to un-muddle this mess of emotions and unclear actions is lost and I'm right back where I started. Unsure and unsteady, as I rise to my feet.

I turn my back to him as I pull my coat back on, bringing my fingers back to life so they can slip into the gloves.

"Bella," his voice softer now, "there's WiFi here."

I still don't turn around, I don't know what to say.

"We're here most days, you can visit any time you like." He pauses, letting the invite float there.

I find my feet and turn back to face him, hoping my poker face has suddenly improved.

"It's good for you to get out more." His attention is back on the wooden spoon, ignoring my eyes. "Bring your laptop next time," he continues, assuming that I'll be back. I hate that his assumption is probably right.

I make my way to the door.

"Be safe, friend," his voice calls to me, I can hear the smile in it, soothing the bizarre rejection I feel.

Emmett watches me leave, I send a smile his way again to be polite. His eyes are burning with curiosity. I see him leap from behind the laptop and stride into the back of the shop through the window as I start making my way home. I wonder what Edward will tell him.

The walk home is a welcome distraction, the sun dipping low in the sky and painting the bare brown trees golden as I walk through them. I stick to the path, not wanting to see the valley again.

I only just make it home in time, the light fading fast. I glance around the cottage, seeing the same furniture where it always is, the same mess on my desk and the books left haphazardly on the sofa. Somehow, I expected it to look different.

I burn my fingers making dinner, distracted by the day's events. I go over everything he said again, making sure I log what really happened firmly in my memory so it won't warp over time. My hand comes up to my throat for the umpteenth time, the skin there is still silky and soft with no indication that his rough fingers were there.

After I eat, I settle down with a book, enjoying the weird peacefulness that's coming over me. It's kind of numbing, but in a pleasant way. It's a repeating occurrence whenever he's gone, I notice. My attention is drawn back to the words on the page in front of me. I haven't decided if I'm going back or thought about what will happen next. I know that soon enough those thoughts will circle my mind like vultures so I put it off and let myself be distracted by a simpler world, where people say what they mean and do what they say.


	10. Chapter 10

My fingers cramp as I hammer in the metal spike harder into a crevice of the sheer rock face, willing it to hold. I need it to hold. The snowstorm surrounding our team is battering us with everything it has. The soft white fur from my hood frames my vision as I peer upwards to the hazy outline of his body, clinging to the rockface just like me.

"It's in, keep climbing," I shout as loud as I can, battling to be heard over the shrieking Arctic winds.

He tugs the rope between us in response, letting me know our ascent will continue. Slowly, we keep moving, climbing blind with only the desire to find shelter keeping us alive.

The rope grows slack between us, telling me he's stopped above me again. I angle my head upwards, pressing my body tight against the rocks so the cold fingers of the gale-force winds can't pry me off.

His muffled voice is just a jumble of sounds as he shouts down with desperation to me. I listen harder.

"Do you want the BLT or mayo chicken?" he calls down at me.

"What?" I shout back.

"Bella, are you listening to me?" his voice pulls me back to the present. He's standing over me with sandwiches in either hand, blocking out the fluorescent workshop lights above us.

"Oh, um, chicken please."

Edward looks at me with a mix of amusement and irritation as he drops the sandwich into my lap. My fingers, still frozen mid-sentence on the keyboard from when the fantasy hit, reach to open it. He doesn't say anything, he's caught me daydreaming a few times over the past week.

I'm sat comfortably in the corner of the workshop. Edward not-so-subtly cleared me a desk far away from all the machinery after a wisp of my hair almost got caught in the industrial-style oscillating sander. I was terrified that he'd ban me from coming here after that, but he didn't. He did get pretty angry though.

Even with that embarrassing moment, I'm glad I decided to take up his offer. When I'd got home on Saturday after returning the scarf, I'd been in two minds about coming back. By Sunday morning, I realised I'd be an idiot not to take him up on the offer. I'd been imagining excuses for days before that so I could see him again, then he'd just given me one out of thin air.

Of course, I didn't want to seem like I had no life, so Sunday was spent pacing and nail-biting as I tried to "play it cool" alone at home. I wanted his respect; I didn't want him to keep on treating me like an obedient puppy that comes when she's called and needs looking after. No one works on Sundays anyway, I told myself. On Monday I made it all the way to 11:23am before I sent a text:

_WiFi is playing up at home today, would you mind if I stopped by the store to work?_

No reply. The silence was deafening. I wouldn't let myself fantasise or even turn the TV on for fear of missing his message back. That lasted until the sun set over the fields and it was too late to walk to the village anyway, then the worry started. Maybe he'd changed his mind about wanting to be friends. The worry phase lasted an hour before the anger took over. Fuck him. I'd actually shouted the words aloud. I felt kind of used, to be honest. And then, finally, when I was in bed and trying to sleep, I felt like a complete fool for two very good reasons.

1\. Silence is just silence, you can't interpret it. Assuming just makes you an ass.

2\. He told me the day before that he only had the Nokia until his iPhone was repaired and returned.

In the end, it turned out to be neither. He'd been so used to the Nokia never running out of battery that he didn't realise when it did actually die overnight.

Tuesday morning I made my way to the store, feeling a little meek as I knocked on the doorframe. Even with the door still closed I could hear Emmett bellow "she's here" into the backroom.

He seemed pleased to see my laptop tucked into a satchel bag slung over my body. Of course, actually doing work was another matter. Edward is distracting as hell. He showed me how he works, demonstrating with his skilled hands how to carve spoons, trinket boxes, keyring tags and everything else the tourists like buying. We talk while we work, not really holding up a conversation just exchanging little questions for each other. Once we'd run out of questions, we'd share other little things. On Wednesday, while deciding what sandwich to choose for lunch, he'd told me he hated tomatoes in sandwiches. I gave him the story about choking on an olive from the Pizza Hut salad bar in return.

I learnt a lot about him that way. He's 27, he lives alone, no pets but he doesn't mind animals, he hates cooking, drives a Volvo and hasn't "really been in a serious relationship." Those were his words. We kept things light for the most part, never really delving into anything heartfelt or too revealing.

I learnt more just from observing him, the little things that make a person unique that they can never see for themselves. The way his eyebrows furrow with concentration, the way he pinches the bridge of his nose when he's reaching the limit. He smiles fondly whenever Emmett mentions his daughter Alice and shows a fierce protectiveness when he tells me about their adventures when he babysits some weekends. Edward loves teasing people but the practical jokes seem to be between just him and Emmett. The way they joke and jostle with each other, you'd be forgiven for thinking they are brothers. The more time I spend with him, the more I figure him out, in a way. It's like finding more pieces to the puzzle, except the completed puzzle will depict a mystery scene or object that you don't understand anyway.

And there's a sadness in the air around him that I hadn't noticed before. A few times I've caught him watching me from across the room with a strange look in his eye, like he's recalling memories of us from years past. I didn't see it hidden under the anger the first few times we met, but things have been calmer now. He's more collected when we're just spending the day working in the same room. I have to admit, his presence calms me too.

When I get back to the cottage in the evening, however, it's a different matter. My panting from legging it back through the woods and fields – because I stay with Edward in the store until the very last minute and have to run before the light fades – quickly turns to another kind of panting.

I'm becoming as torn as he is. I melt every time he smiles at me, even when it's just a mocking smirk at my decision to get a Lindt chocolate bunny for lunch, and I love the way we can sit comfortably in silence together. That's a nice Edward to be with, he's a good friend. But that's not all I want.

_You're kind of sick, you know that?_

I suppress a sigh. I want his fury, his passion and violence and possessiveness. It's wrong, the way he grabbed my throat that time… but I want it again. There are nights when I'd give anything for him to burst through the door and roughly pin me up against the wall. I want to feel his rough hands rip my clothes off my body and bend me to his will. I want him to whisper in my ear until I beg and whimper for him to fuck me senseless. Some nights I imagine him sinking his teeth into my neck and finally marking me as his.

I shift uncomfortably in my chair and drag my attention back to the conversation. Emmett devoured his 2 sandwiches like a starving man and is now trying to convince Edward of his new plans for expansion. Edward sends a glare my way. It's my fault, really. When Emmett found out I write website content, his ambitions had suddenly turned towards taking the store online and selling their goods all-year round.

"This is all well and good, Emmett, but how are we going to meet the demand in the summer if we sell everything I'm working on now?" Edward is getting impatient but Emmett is too busy imagining the future of his little enterprise. He's a bit of a dreamer, like me.

Also like me, he's completely infatuated with someone yet unable to initiate anything. No one has said anything out loud, but there's definitely something going on between him and Rose. He asks every day if she mentioned him, but she doesn't. She just sits there behind the counter of the SPAR, looking like a beauty pageant model stuck in small town hell.

I want to know her story, but she seems far more interested in me. Since that first afternoon we sat together to wait for Edward, she's been sickly sweet to me. It's so obviously fake it's getting on my nerves. Every day she asks me questions about my life with a smile plastered on her face, calling me "honey" and telling me I look great.

I confronted Edward about it and he laughed. "She couldn't find you on Facebook to stalk so she's trying to do it the old-fashioned way," was his explanation.

It's almost like he can sense my anxiety at this. "Relax," he tells me, "she likes you, she's just checking you out before she lets her guard down."

Edward has finished his BLT and is back to running fingers through his hair as Emmett launches into his ideas about how their website will look. I nod and smile where appropriate, slowly making my way through my own sandwich. My jaw is getting better but chewy, bready foods aren't easy. I'm handicapped to using just one side of my mouth. Ribs are still tender, but only when I poke at them with my fingers.

"…and that's how we'll be able to offer free delivery and send everything out with handwritten notes. English tourist chicks love that shit." He winks at me, making me giggle as Edward's head falls into his hands with a groan of misery.

"I'd better get back to work then, huh," Edward mutters with a mouthful of sarcasm.

"Chill, with this snowstorm coming our way we won't be able to ship any orders for a while," Emmett winds him up without missing a beat, then jumps back up excitedly towards the front of the store, undoubtedly to continue his work on their new business plan.

"Speaking of snowstorms, did you stock up on food and firewood?" I can tell he's watching me intently as I focus hard on the keyboard.

"Bella?"

"There's enough food to last for weeks," I reply, still avoiding his eyes.

I don't need to look up to feel his anger as he hears what I haven't said. I've just been so distracted coming to the store every day, I hardly noticed the seasons morphing away from autumn and deeper into winter. Edward is all-consuming. Plus, with spending so much time here I haven't used as much firewood as I originally thought.

He curses and slams the desk. I don't jump, I was expecting it this time. The expletives get quieter as he storms away, opening the door and letting the bitterly cold air swirl up sawdust.

He comes back moments later, dropping something heavy by my feet. My eyes snap up from the 2 large bags of logs before me. They're supposed to be for Edward's work.

"Edward, I'm fine. There's enough firewood at the cottage and the gas stove will work even if the power cuts out. I don't need your help." It takes a lot of restraint not to spit those words at him, frustrations are building in me at his actions. Frustrations in my head… and lower down.

_Not the time or the place, Bella._

"Bella, the snow hits tomorrow and you've done fuck-all to prepare for it," he hisses the words out through his teeth.

"There's plenty of food and I know how to stay warm." I'm not letting him win this one.

"Do you? Have you spent a winter in **Snow**donia?" He knows I haven't. He's so fucking patronising sometimes. "Dammit, Bella. That dismal cottage of yours is so isolated. If you're not going to be sensible and plan, you have to let me look after you."

How does he manage to knock the anger out of me so quickly? His words drag me back a few weeks to when a lonely girl sat in a waiting room, wondering what it would be like to be pitied. To have someone look after her in the most intimate ways.

He knows from my silence that he's won. Again.

There's still some fight in me. "If looking after me makes you so angry, why do you even bother?"

He doesn't reply.

"Take it, Bella. It's better to be safe." Emmett's got his dad voice on, the one he usually reserves for phone calls with his daughter, as his words boom around the store. Sometimes I forget he can hear everything.

Edward is only 4 years older than me. Emmett 7. Yet between them they make me feel like I'm a 5-year-old again. At least with Emmett I can tell he does it because he cares. God knows what fuels Edward's angry actions.

Fine. I close my laptop with a snap. If I'm lugging 2 heavy bags of firewood home, I'll need to get going.

Edward goes back to his desk to gloat. He thinks I don't notice how he reacts when he gets his way, but sometimes he's just as bad as Rose. Smug and self-righteous.

I pack up my stuff, wedging a half-eaten chocolate bar into a side pocket and double-checking my phone and keys are still where they should be. My coat welcomes me with a hug. Now to the hard work. I shift my satchel bag around my body so it rests on my ass, leaving my hands and sides free for the firewood.

Remembering to bend at the knees, I grip the handles and plan to make a swift, elegant exit out the front door with what remaining dignity I have keeping my chin held high. But this is reality, not fantasy.

I can lift one bag with two hands. Now I just need to grow two more arms for the other bag. I think about the chances of Edward letting me walk out of here with half the firewood. Fat chance, he's already huffing at me and pulling on a long black coat over his leather jacket. I've never seen him without it.

He pulls the handles of the second bag roughly from my hand like it's holding a goose-down feather pillow and takes long strides towards the front door – too long and too fast for me to catch up.

"I'll be back," he snaps at Emmett, who simply repeats the words back to him in the voice of Arnold Schwarzenegger.

At least he holds the door open for me. "Thanks, Em," I manage to mumble. The bitter wind whistling down the high-street whisks away whatever his reply was as I step away from the door. It wasn't like this when I left this morning. It's so gloomy, you'd think it was late afternoon already.

He's on the other side of the street, eyeing me impatiently. The slippery wet grey stones beneath my feet are treacherous, slowing down my pace more than usual. At least it gives me something to focus on besides the angry sighs emanating from the man besides me.

He looks wistfully at a semi-detached house as we're about the enter the woods. I hold my breath as he debates bailing on me and heading home. He doesn't, he just switches the bag to his other hand and charges headfirst into the woods. I follow behind, my knees banging awkwardly against the bag as I hold it in front of me with all my upper body strength. I make a mental note to add more upper body strengthening positions to my yoga routine.

It's quiet in the woods, the trees block out the whistling wind but they block out the light too. It's dark. I hadn't noticed the sweet soundtrack of birds and wildlife the last time I walked through here, but I guess it must have been playing in the background. As we walk through the woods today, you could hear a pin drop in this eerie silence. When the first icy cold puff lands on my face it comes as a pleasant surprise. Edward lets out an audible groan. The snow is early.

We're polar opposites, I think to myself. Then try to hide my smile at the unintended pun. I love snow. And despite what Edward thinks, I have experienced heavy snow. We even got snowed in once. I played Monopoly with mum and dad. Mum was trying to let me win. Of course, Charlie wasn't having it. He ended us all with a hotel on Mayfair. I smile at the memory. I must have been 7 or 8 at the time, before Renee left for good.

If it wasn't for this heavy bag in my arms, there'd be a spring in my step. The soft flakes falling through the bare tree branches aren't settling, though. They fade away to nothing a few seconds after landing on the barren ground. I resist the urge to catch one on my tongue. I've been called a child enough times today already. Edward doesn't understand simple pleasures.

We're nearing the edge of the woods and the sight of the snow over the fields and valleys stretching to the horizon is staggering. And naturally, it just makes Edward frown more.

We step out from the trees together. He's slowed down to match my pace but it doesn't last.

"Hurry," he breaks the silence as his strides start to widen.

It's not so sheltered out in the fields, I notice. Actually, it's not sheltered at all. I can feel the wind pushing me hard over my right shoulder, propelling me closer to Edward on my left.

We scuttle along the length of the first field, watching our feet for icy puddles. Edward glances up to the horizon every few steps, muttering under his breath.

There's a sickening feeling as the bottom of my stomach starts to fall away from me and I realise Edward was right all along. I've seen heavy snow before but not like this. The houses and trees of the London suburb took the brunt of the elements, but not here. Not with sweeping fields and valleys. The rugged Welsh landscape offers us no protection as the wind builds up speed as the rising hills and mountains channel it towards us. The snow begins to shimmer and drift, waves of it ghost along the grass creating shapes like hundreds of starlings flying in unison.

It whips around us and stings our eyes. Edward's pace picks up as we reach the corner field we need to turn and then he stops. I look up from my feet then follow his gaze. The horizon is getting closer and closer, I realise, as visibility drops. This isn't just heavy snow, it's the storm coming to get us.

"Bella?" I meet his eyes and tremble at what I see there, "I need you to stay close to me, don't get separated." His eyes are partly obscured by the snow between us but I can see enough to tell that he's not angry. This isn't an argument about me needing full-time care or Edward belittling me. It's serious. I want to reach out and hold onto his coat with my fingers as he leads the way, but the firewood is still clutched in my frozen hands.

The snow descends on us. If this were a TV show, it wouldn't be considered too bad. Of course, when you're really in the snowstorm, it's a completely different matter. The wind is strong but not enough to push me over, not enough to be considered gale-force. It hardly matters, the snow is blinding as I follow the black mass of Edward's coat in front of me. And it's cold, it's so cold. The snow on my hands and face is caught between melting and freezing over into ice. I want to close my eyes with a long blink to refresh them, but I can't lose sight of Edward.

We walk as slow as we dare, following the edge where the ploughed field meets the grassy verge to keep our route straight towards the cottage. I'm so busy concentrating on not getting separated from Edward that I don't see the exposed mud where the grass parts. My foot slips on it, sending me down to the ground. I don't slip far at all, just onto my ass. I scramble to get up, putting down the firewood and using it to get back to my knees and finally feet. By the time I'm upright with firewood back in hand, he's gone.

I don't panic at first. We're following the grassy verge along the field so I just keep going. One foot in front of the other and repeat. Then my mind, my cruel mind, makes me wonder if maybe I'm going the wrong way along the verge. My pace speeds up but still no Edward shaped blur appears in front of me. What happens when I find the corner of the field? What way do I go? Now the panic sets in and my eyes dart around, trying to see something, anything, through the snow. The light is fading faster now as dark clouds swirl over an already darkening sky.

"Edward?" I call through the snow but it's useless. My voice sounds so quiet to my ears as the wind swallows it up and sends it far away. I scream his name again, the energy burning my eyes even more as I try to see through all the snow, looking for any shapes I can make out.

I stumble forward a few more steps, battling for breath as my chest gives off the tell-tale signs of hyperventilation. A shard-like flake of snow lands right in my eye, forcing me to close them. And I'm gone. The darkness is a welcome retreat from the cruelty of the world. Something tells me it's not a good time to escape into fantasy but that voice is soon squashed.

Any minute now he'll be asking me what sandwich I want, I'm sure of it.


	11. Chapter 11

I lose my balance with my eyes screwed tightly shut, so I sway from side to side as the wind batters me from all directions. The snow stings cold on my exposed face and my hands are no longer human, just icy hooks clinging to the dead weight.

It's not working, I can't slip away, I can't find comfort in my retreat. The world is too loud.

My eyes rip open again at the thought of finding Edward, of moving forward and getting out of this blizzard. But fear grips me at being alone, being lost and forgotten.

_He's only out here in the snow because of you, he won't forget._

I try to stand as still as possible, hunching down as my body curls with the effort to hold onto the heavy firewood. I should just stay where I last saw him and let him come back to me. If we're both stumbling around we'll miss each other. Unless he's just abandoned me here. Maybe he found his way back to the cottage and broke in, deciding not to come back for me. I mean, we're friends but I've only really known him for a few weeks. Would he risk his life coming back out for someone who's barely past being an acquaintance?

My body begins to convulse and shudder, my winter coat wasn't designed to keep out weather this harsh. Cold seeps in from my extremities, wracking my body with shivers. I hunch over further and close my eyes again. It's useless having them open, I can't see anything. Even if I did spot Edward's shape through the snow, he wouldn't hear my shouts.

The firewood is resting on the ground again nestled into the snow. I hunch around it even further and tuck my chin down, letting my warm breath heat up my neck and reducing exposure to the elements.

I don't hear him approach, I just feel pressure on my shoulders as he tries to pull me upright. My legs protest but move to his will, his body blocking out the wind and snow in front of me. My eyes won't focus, they just see a blurry shape of black fabric and skin and auburn hair.

He leans closer, pulling me into him. His cheek against mine feels cold, wet and alien, but his breath is hot by my ear.

"Hold on to me," he tells me urgently. His body is shivering too.

He pulls the heavy bag of firewood from my frozen fingers, leaving them free to cling onto his coat. He moves slowly as we start moving again, his back protecting my face from the ice and the wind. The path goes on forever, our steps slow and uncertain as we take on the raging violence of the snowstorm together.

The rhythmic bang of a gate smashing open and closed is a welcome sound as we near the cottage. So close to the warmth we crave. He shuffles around when we reach the door so I can unlock it. He stands behind me while my numb fingers try to grip the key. His body shields me from behind, his heavy breath swirling onto my shoulder as he leans down with the effort of gripping the heavy firewood on either side of me.

The wind rips the door away from my hand as soon as it's unlocked and pushes us through. I stumble and grip onto the coat hooks as Edward flies into the room. It's a struggle to get the door shut but I manage, shutting out the ice and the anger, but not the cold.

It's freezing inside and the whole cottage groans with the assault from the weather, floorboards creak with the effort of holding up.

Edward's voice breaks the silence, rasping for air. "The walls are ancient, they've survived this before. It's the roof we should be concerned about."

He's leaning against one of the sturdy walls, white clouds billowing from his mouth as his hot breath touches the frigid air. His skin is so pale, the colour completely drained from his lips as his spine curves over. Before he seemed like a giant in my home, now the life has been sucked right out of him.

We both seem to realise at the same time that we need to get warm, light the fire. I reach for the light switch but it makes no difference. The power is out. Shuffling through the dark we reach the fireplace, trying to hurry as newspaper is crunched up with unwilling fingers. Logs are piled haphazardly on top, trying to wedge as many as possible into the cramped space. The bright light of the match blinds me as I light the newspaper, letting the flames spread and soak in.

We huddle closer together, the right side of my body pressed close to his. There's no warmth between us, it's like sitting up next to a trembling rock as we watch the flames unfurl and grow.

Even with the warmth that eventually glows on our faces, we're still shivering. My hands begin to itch and tingle as the heat reaches them, the first stage of frostbite easing away. My body sags as the cold starts to dissipate completely, pressing me closer into Edward. He shifts away, tugging off his sodden coat and flinging it across the room rather than leaving the fire to hang it up on the hooks. The buttons on mine take longer to tease through the holes, but eventually I'm free, exposing my limbs to the heat from the flames. Boots are next. Edward lines them up to the side of the fireplace so they'll dry out quicker, then wraps an arm around me and pulls me closer into his side so my face is nestled into his chest and my damp hair is under his chin.

We stay like that as the warmth slowly circulates the room and our breathing returns to normal. He moves his fingers back and forth in front of the flames, flexing out the cold numbness.

"You came back for me," I whisper into his chest, not wanting to break the quiet and calm with loud words.

"I wouldn't just leave you out there, Bella." He says it like it's obvious, the smooth rich tone of his voice melting my bones further. He doesn't sound angry but I keep my head pressed to his chest just in case, avoiding his eyes.

"If I didn't find you, I would have called the emergency services and they'd send the mountain rescue team out for us." His arm rubs up and down against mine, the soft fabrics fusing together and spreading warmth through me.

"Thank you for not being angry, I know I fucked up," I admit into the soft fabric against my face.

"It's too cold to get angry, and I know you know how bad this fuck up was," his reply is soft but the words ring harsh and true. In an attempt to prove how much I didn't need his help I'd put us both in danger and ended up needing his help even more.

His fingers on my arm push that thought away and soothe my nerves as we breathe slow and deep by the fire, listening to the crackle of the flames and the low groans of the cottage above us when the wind knuckles down on it.

Minutes pass and I'm beginning to dose off when the muffled noise of a Nokia ringtone pulls us back. He releases me to retrieve it, taking away my doziness with him.

"Em, I know, we got stuck in it," he reassures Emmett over the phone, wandering around to find the best spot for phone signal. It's the far end of the sofa, I gesture to him silently with my hands.

I leave him to his conversation to look for some candles, noticing how dark the room is. There are a few hidden in a kitchen drawer; a handful of tealights and a half-burned Yankee candle that smells so powerfully of vanilla and shortbread that I'd actually wrapped it up in a plastic shopping bag. I light that one on the far side of the room to keep the intoxicating scent further away, then strategically place the tealights on my desk and over the shelves to illuminate the walls. The flames flicker as the wind howls down on our humble shelter.

He's still talking with Emmett, giving instructions on how to shut down the workshop properly. He won't make it back tonight, I realise. Edward's staying here.

I'm half nervous and half excited, hanging up our coats to keep my hands and eyes busy so I don't just stand and stare at him. Then I dart upstairs to use the bathroom and quickly rake a brush through my frizzled fire-dried hair and put on some fluffy socks.

He's finished on the phone when I get back down, still reclining on the sofa.

"We should eat," he reminds me without turning around, "do you need to call anyone to let them know you're ok?"

I chew my lip as I wonder whether to call Charlie. He's not called me, but I really should send him a message at some point. "I'll text my dad," I placate him and myself in one go, then turn my attention to the kitchen.

We stare at the fridge as I try to think up a quick meal I can make with the ingredients I remember having. With the power out, we need to keep the cold locked in the fridge for as long as possible.

It's too dark and without the use of the oven I can't make anything elaborate for him. "Does mac n cheese sound good?" I ask, praying he says yes as my stomach rumbles for cheesy carby gooey goodness.

"Perfect." He goes back to the fire, leaving me to it. A meal is the least I can do for him, so I add extra cheese as an additional tiny thank you.

We eat by the fire, sitting on the floor again. He's leaning back against the sofa with long legs stretched out in front, while I sit crossed legged facing him with my side absorbing the heat from the fire.

"Tell me something about you, Bella" he asks, smiling at the memory of the last time he was here with me.

"You know a lot about me already," I remind him, thinking about how much has changed over the past days.

The pasta bowl is empty and pushed aside as he pats the spot next to him, beckoning me closer. I shuffle there and pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. He doesn't put his arm around me but he seems comfortable having me this close, the warmth radiating between us feels cosy and soothing.

"Tell me something important, this time," he requests.

My mind goes blank. Nothing important really happens to me in reality. He sees me struggling and sends out a lifeline. "Tell me about your dad."

"Um, he works in the Met in London. He's always worked there, climbing the ranks. He's a detective chief superintendent with the CID now." Charlie was always proud of his job, making sure I knew all the ranks and what they meant.

"He must have been busy at work when you were growing up," he eases me into a conversation slowly, making it straightforward for me.

"Yeah, I had the house to myself a lot."

His weight shifts against the sofa, getting comfortable. "What about your mum?"

"Sure, she looked after me when I was a kid. She left in my early teen years though."

I know he's going to ask for more before he even opens his lips.

"Do you want to talk about that?" He sounds hesitant, suddenly oh-so concerned about my emotions. I guess the snowstorm freaked us both out. He's being so gentle with me, like he knows it's what I need right now.

"There's not much to talk about. She visited her mother in France a lot throughout my childhood, heading over there every few months to check on her. As she got older and sicker, mum was called away more and more. Sometimes she'd stay there for weeks. Eventually, she'd end up staying for months at a time, growing more distant from me and Charlie. Then she came back on Easter and she was… different. Lighter. She'd fallen in love with someone over there."

Edward is listening intently, not moving, but still breathing slowly and calmly. He waits for me to continue.

"It wasn't a surprise really, I think Charlie knew for a long while before that. They didn't argue or get angry at each other, they just fizzled out." After that, Charlie had thrown himself into work. I know part of him still loves Renee. He's not moved on. Edward doesn't need to know that.

"So you're French?" he changes the topic.

"No, I'm British, born and raised. Mum, Renee, was only half French. She didn't teach me much of the language, I can just about order a meal and ask for the bill."

"Good to know," he muses and thinks about his next question.

"Have you been to France?" his body is angled towards me now, his head resting on a hand propped up with an elbow on the sofa.

"Yes, a few times on holidays to Provence."

He waits this time, letting me find the words without prompt.

"I loved it when we'd drive through the lavender fields under the sun," I feel hesitant to tell him this. The lavender fields are close to my heart, the heady fragrance a familiar component to many fantasies and one of my best escapes not inspired by a novel, film or TV show.

He gets up to add more wood to the fire, then settles back down, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as he does to tug me closer.

My knees still bunched up to my chest fall to the side, resting lightly on his legs. With my body angled like this I can't help but let my head turn towards him too, nervously meeting his eyes.

The piercing green meets mine, deep and flecked with emotions that flicker past too fast for me to detect. His face is calm and his expression is relaxed, but there's still intensity there. I think, deep down, his stomach is as jittery as mine is from being this close. It's intimate.

"Tell me about the lavender fields, Bella. Explain it to me," his eyes smoulder into mine as he waits for me to begin.

"Well, they're this purply blue colour. It's rich but hazy at the same time. The way the hot sun hits the fields as they sweep away into the distance makes them hazy like that. When the breeze runs over them they sway and dip like a vast ocean. And the smell is phenomenal, especially when you're driving through with the windows open, letting the air swirl around."

My brain is half in a fantasy but Edward has me tethered to Earth. What begins as a nervously told generic description transforms into something else entirely. I end up using my hands to show him how the landscape moves, the way the trees curve over the roads and the pretty villages you pass on your way to the Mediterranean coast, blending my foggy memories of holidays long ago with the imagery of my favourite fantasies of Provence.

My body twists to explain it better and watch for his reactions to my words, his arm falling from my shoulders to curl around my waist instead. He lets me talk for hours, the topic drifting naturally from one thing to the next as I share with him some of my best memories. Sights and sensations mostly, the way the Christmas tree used to fill the room with pine scents made him smile, he loved that smell too, he tells me. He adds comments every now and then, sharing similar thoughts with me, but mostly he just listens and watches me with curiosity and something else.

The candles are burning low when he pulls me up onto the sofa besides him. He's reclining back, one arm behind his head with me tucked into his side. Feeling my body pressed against his consumes my mind, I don't know what to do. His hand in my hair guides me to use his chest as a pillow again. He can't see the way I'm smiling from this position.

"We should stay by the fire overnight," he tells me. But I had no intention of crawling upstairs away from him. Right now, I feel at home.


	12. Chapter 12

I wake up before he does, the dim light in the cottage doesn't give away what time it is and I'm quite content just laying here. He must have pulled the patchwork quilt over us at some point during the night. It's heavy and cosy over our bodies. My head is still pressed against his chest, but we've somehow ended up lying on our sides, pressed together. God, he smells amazing.

I can feel every line of muscle pressing against me as he breathes, steady and rhythmic inhales and exhales. The arm slung over my waist is heavy and warm too, stopping me rolling off the sofa entirely. He doesn't seem to be waking up any time soon, so I worm my way a little closer into his arms, pressing my face back into the soft comfort of his shirt and listening to his heart. I bring my legs closer too, freezing when his breath makes a little stutter and relaxing when it returns to normal.

The zipper on his jeans is pressing into my hip now I'm angled like this, so I keep shifting my weight trying to find the comfy spot I was in before. His breath deepens as I wriggle against him. I pause and wait for him to fall back to dreamland again. But that's not why he's now breathing hot and heavy against the top of my head. The growing bulge right under the zipper is pushing even deeper into my belly and now it's my breath that's getting heavy. His arousal makes the muscles deep inside me tighten. Fuck, I've dreamed about this so many times.

The need for release wins over any awkwardness or shyness in me. It's not really a battle, it's complete surrender as I give in. I shift against him once more, pressing myself as close to him as possible, rubbing my needy body against his and loving the way my breasts press tightly against his chest. I wonder what it would feel like without my clothes in the way, to feel the softness of his shirt and the hard muscles underneath against my aching nipples. They tighten into hard buds instantly. I've seen the way his nimble fingers work attentively over his carvings. I think about him working me over the same way and hold back a moan, pressing my thighs together for just a little hint of friction.

I arch my back as much as I can, pressing the thick hard bulge in his jeans closer against my belly. I lay still for a moment to torture myself, trying hard not to writhe against him. The ache between my legs is getting hard to ignore, but my arms are pinned to my sides.

His cock twitches against me as he shifts ever so slightly in his sleep, rolling minutely towards me and increasing the pressure of our bodies compressed together. If he rolls more he could be right on top of me. My teeth sink into my lip at the thought of feeling his weight on me, hot and heavy, leaving me completely at his mercy.

I need _something _or I'm going to explode.

I want to feel the thick growing bulge in his jeans pressed between my legs. With flushed cheeks I try to move my body upwards, sliding against him so that hardness will be just where I want it. I shift and push until he's almost where I need him, the button of his jeans catches on mine. There's no holding back the whimper that emerges at being so close. I give one last firm push and then he's right there, the hardness of his cock pressed right up against my swollen clit, the heat radiating through our clothes.

My final move knocks the top of my head against his chin. I stay perfectly still but it's too late, his breath sucks in and every firm, powerful muscle in his body tenses against me. He's awake.

For a few seconds that last a lifetime, he's silent. All I can feel is the pulsing ache in my clit as it swells and throbs. He finally exhales and his usually dark, rich voice is gravelly and rough as he mutters "Jesus fucking Christ."

His hands dig into the sofa as he tries to lift himself but the move just pushes his lower half deeper into mine as his chest lifts away. The friction as he presses harder and slides downwards makes me mewl. The hard bite of jean seams press right into soft, hot folds.

I keep my lust and guilt-ridden eyes focused on his chest as he carefully manoeuvres himself over me and onto the hardwood floors, staggering backwards and pulling the quilt away with him.

I mumble "Uh-" as his words rush out "Bathroom is upstairs, yeah?"

I nod and he's disappearing up the stairs before I can blink.

My breath returns to normal before I sit upright. The movement slides my pussy lips against each other, slickness coating them as lingering wetness soak into my panties.

The more the sleepy, dreamy feelings fade from my brain the more embarrassed I feel. I practically humped him in his sleep. Shit, if roles were reversed all kinds of accusations would be flying around about now.

I try to think of what to say when he comes back down but my mind is blank and distant. I guess I can't really believe that I did that. Too often I tease myself first thing in the morning with gentle flicks and groping finger. It just felt so natural to want to do that even with him here.

I can hear the water flowing upstairs for a moment as the sink fills up with frozen cold water. The power is still out, I note.

Stumps and wax icicles run from some of the shelves in front of me where we forgot to blow out the candles last night. The last thing I remember was telling him about how I found this cottage on a random walk. I must have fallen asleep after that.

A throat clears behind me.

I take my time standing up before I turn to face him. His expression is stoic, only his dark eyes giving him away as he returns my stare.

"Power's still out," he says with no hint of what emotion he's feeling underneath. I wish he would get angry with me, at least that would be something.

He breaks away from my gaze to look out the windows to the front of the cottage.

"Well fuck," he mutters.

I turn to see what's caught his attention.

The windows are completely blocked with white snow, the icy blanket only letting a little pale light flow through. It must come at least halfway up the cottage, I realise. Can the snow really be that deep?

"It must have drifted up against the wall with the wind last night," he answers my thoughts then turns to look out the window by the kitchen on the other side of the room. That window is clear, showing a perfectly snowy blanket covering the messy back garden and clinging to the trees that line the edge of the property.

"Have you got a shovel? A spade or anything?" he asks, moving closer to the snow-blocked windows and looking through them with furrowed brows.

"No, I haven't got anything like that," my shaky voice replies.

"Of course not. That would be too sensible," he snaps at me.

Edward's back.

"The drift doesn't look too thick," he continues in his agitated voice, "but I don't fancy digging my way through it with just my bare hands."

He turns in a full circle, dark eyes searching the room and a grumble working his way out of his chest when he realises the only exit is blocked. The windows are too small for him to climb through.

_He doesn't want to be stuck with you in here._

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he stares up at the ceiling for a few breaths then turns swiftly and makes his way towards me. I jump back out of his path as he brings the storm closer before dropping back down onto the sofa, sitting upright this time. His fingers drum out an angry rhythm on the arm of the sofa as the wheels turn behind his eyes.

I stare at my hands, tugging on a hangnail and waiting for him to do something because right now I'm at a loss.

The sound of a sigh being exhaled forcefully brings my eyes back up.

"Let's eat then I'll make a game plan," he says gloomily, getting up and striding towards the kitchen without looking at me.

I follow a few steps behind, staying light on my toes and not getting too close. It's not easy in a small kitchen. I stare dumbfound as he starts cracking eggs into a bowl and lighting the stove under a frying pan.

"Go wash up," he snaps at me, turning to give me a hard look when my legs refuse to move.

My head feels clearer when I'm upstairs and away from him. The air up here is cooler and the familiar sights of my bedroom are soothing. I wash up the best I can and change my clothes in an attempt to feel fresh, picking out a chunky knit jumper so I can get away with being braless underneath. My cheeks are still pink when I catch my appearance in the mirror, bed hair swarming around my face. I yank the brush through it and relish in the sharp pain as knots give way.

The cosy bed is tempting as I consider delaying going back down… but decide against it. Like a masochist I want to see his anger up close, as it's my fault he's livid this morning.

The eggs are almost done when I re-emerge. He doesn't acknowledge me as I pull 2 plates from the cupboard and 2 forks from the drawer. He plates up sloppily, giving us equal portions.

We eat in silence, I keep my eyes locked on the plate until he's done and I can take it to wash up. He paces while I roll up my sleeves and get to work. I'm placing the dried dishes back in the cupboard when he calls my name hesitantly from across the room.

I take a deep breath and face him.

The expression on his face surprises me. He looks… guilty? Remorseful, even.

He grinds his jaw as he tries to find the words. I edge closer, curious about what's on his mind.

"I, uh…" he begins, shaking his head and starting again.

"This morning, I um, I was half asleep. I didn't know you were there, if that makes sense," he searches my eyes to see if I've got what he's trying to say. I'm not sure I have.

He steps closer.

"I wasn't trying anything, it just… well, y'know. Sometimes _that _happens in the morning."

Realisation dawns on me. He thinks it's his fault. I can't let him think that, it wouldn't be fair. Surely I owe him the truth. Now it's my turn to stutter. "No, uh, it wasn't your fault."

He frowns at that. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I was just, I mean, we were so close together, and I…" my words get quieter until they trail off, unsure of how to vocalise it out loud.

He gravitates closer to me, his voice smoother as he asks, "What did you do, Bella?"

I can't look at him but the rush of crimson blood to my cheeks is answer enough.

The room is silent for a long minute as he absorbs the words I haven't spoken. Then he chuckles, low and throaty, "And here I thought I dreamt it all."

He steps closer, my body automatically taking a step back. My cheeks are burning with shame. He keeps on coming, so I retreat further until my ass hits the wall. He moves swiftly, bracing his hands on either side of me, trapping me there.

"Look at me, Bella," he growls, but my eyes stay focused on his chest directly in front of me. He leans closer until I can feel his hot breath on my face.

"Tell me what you did," he commands, his voice is dark and slow. He's completely in control of himself and of this moment. He knows exactly what he's doing to me.

My teeth sink into my lip, unable to answer him, to say the dirty words aloud.

He sighs disappointedly, then drops one hand from the wall. My eyes close as his cage around me is broken.

But he doesn't back away. Rough fingertips touch the outer edge of my thigh, grazing the material lightly and raising a thousand goosebumps up and down my skin as the sensation zips through me. He drags them up slowly until they rest at the edge of my jumper where it meets the waistband of my jeans.

"Was this what you wanted?" he murmurs in my ear, his fingers dragging left to right over the fabric, never dipping in quite low enough to touch my burning skin.

"Did you want me to touch you while you squirmed around, little girl?" he mocks me as teasingly as his fingers. My breath hitches at his words, fires burning deep inside me. He knows exactly how his words are affecting me.

His fingers halt their movement, the tips just millimetres away from touching the sensitive skin under my navel. "Answer me," he growls.

My head nods before I can even think about replying.

The desire to look up and see his face is too strong now.

A soft moan slips from my lips when his eyes meet mine, the dark forest in them is burning hot and intense. My inhibitions slip away when I finally see my own desire and lust reflected in his eyes. He feels it too.

My body jerks when he makes contact, the rough foreign sensation of toughened fingers and nails on my soft skin. He swirls invisible patterns over my skin, applying the lightest pressure imaginable as he toys with me.

"Did you want me to touch you here?" he asks, his eyes bore into mine.

"Not there," I whisper back, his eyes homing in on my plump bottom lip as it falls my teeth so I can answer.

"How about here?" his fingers trail higher up to my ribcage, sending trembles through my arms and heat flooding down, down, down.

"No?" he answers for me. "Maybe it was higher still," his fingers travel up until they graze the underside of my right breast, making me whimper.

My head falls back against the wall as my back arches into his touch.

"So responsive," he murmurs appreciatively, repeating the back and forth motion his fingers made by my navel. My taut nipples are painfully tight as I move to lean closer towards him, forcing his hands to touch me properly. But he isn't having any of that.

He forces me against the wall, pushing the full length of his body against me. The rigged hardness presses against my hip again, the hand on my body lays flat on my ribcage, pushing me back firmly.

He leans forward to bring his lips to my ear. "This is how close we were when you rubbed yourself all over my cock," he tells me, his voice slow as he draws out each word, making sure I know exactly what he's telling me.

I moan, trying to rub again now to get some friction but he's got me pinned down too tightly.

He chuckles now. "Why did you do that, Bella? Can you tell me why?"

"I want you," I manage to whisper, looking up at him through eyes hooded with lust.

"Good girl," he praises me as his fingers finally move higher, catching me off guard as they grip the supple globe of my right breast roughly. His hand roams around, groping and sliding over my skin, exploring the silky expanse before rolling a hardened peak between his fingers.

He hums softly, enjoying the feel of my body beneath his fingers, malleable to his touch.

"It wasn't just your pretty tits that you were rubbing on me, was it?" he reminds me, his fingers still playing and tugging as they switch from one aching nipple to the other.

I don't answer, my head is swimming with lust and pleasure and pain from his rough touch and manipulations.

He doesn't like my silence. He pulls his hand away completely to bring me snap back to the present.

"Tell me where it aches, Bella, where did you want my cock this morning? Why were you making it so hard for you?"

His eyes burn into mine. He knows what I wanted, why I pressed myself so tightly against him, but he wants to hear me say it.

"Edward please, touch me," is all I can manage to say, it's all I want.

"Where, Bella? What did you want to grind all over me?" his eyes are hypnotic as they lock with mine.

"My pussy," the words fall from my lips as a soft breathy moan.

His hand drags down lower ever so slowly, making my heart thump heavily inside my chest and my breath pull in and out in haggard huffs.

"Here?" he asks, his hand lightly cupping my pussy through my jeans, not enough pressure to feel anything but the heat of his palm.

I nod again.

"Did you want me to fuck you on the sofa, Bella?" he mocks me, the corners of his mouth curling up and making me feel so small in his hands and under his gaze.

All I can do is nod and whisper "please."

His eyes grow impossibly darker but he doesn't reply to my plea.

Instead, his hand increases the pressure on my pussy, sending my body into overdrive as I try to buck against him, desperate for more.

He gives me it, skilfully flicking open my jeans and pulling down the zipper. I twist and lift my hips away from the wall so he can tug them down low enough to reveal my panties.

He watches his fingers intently as they trace the soft edge of the cotton and twirl patterns over them, making me squirm like crazy to try and get him closer.

"You're wound up so tight," he murmurs quietly in my ear, "it won't take much to make you fall apart."

His fingers slip under the cotton, sliding over hypersensitive bare skin to reach drenched pussy lips below. He wastes no time dipping in, the thick rough tips feel like heaven as they stroke back and forth, completely avoiding the neediness of my clit.

He circles round and round, getting closer and closer until with a gentle flick they pass right over the sensitive bundle and head lower, plunging into tight, hot walls without warning. I gasp and let my head fall back, my eyes fluttering shut as I focus on the sensation of being finger fucked. Two long fingers twist and slide in and out at a rough pace while his thumb descends right where I want it on my clit.

My hips push forward from the wall, hungry for more as he pushes deeper into me. It feels so good to be filled like this.

"That's it, girl," he whispers, "fuck my fingers good."

He curls them round in time with his words to hit that spot that makes my toes curl. I let out a low moan as I lose the rhythm and push back against his thrusts erratically, chasing the pleasure he's bearing down on me.

"Let go," he commands, pushing me further and flicking his thumb back and forth over my clit sending volts of pleasure to a place deep inside and filling the room with wet sounds.

I'm so close, I can feel my body humming and ready to burst.

"Cum for me," he growls in my ear, shifting his hips and reminding me of the thick, hard cock he's got pressed into my hip as his fingers work me like I'm made of clay. It sends me over the edge, my walls spasm around his fingers, trying to pull them deeper as muscles contract and my juices flow.

He slows down his pace, leaving my swollen clit alone and gently pulsing his fingers in and out as I come down from my high.

His fingers slide out, grazing my clit as he pulls his hand from my panties and making me flinch and whimper. He doesn't try to move away or release me from the wall, I can still feel him pressed into my hip, hard and straining against the denim.

"Um, thank you?" I whisper quietly and finally look up to meet his eyes. He's looking at me like I'm something to eat, like a cat who's finally caught the mouse. His breath is heavy, lips slightly parted, fingers lingering by my open jeans.

I shift against him, watching his reaction as I grind slowly against his erection.

"You don't want to tease me like that, Bella," he warns, his voice low and dangerous.

"But I want-"

"You don't know what you're asking for. You're not ready for that," he interrupts with sharp words, but the roughness of his voice only makes me crave him more. I want more of everything, I want him to touch and control and manipulate and use my body until I scream.

"Please, Edward, fuck me," I beg breathlessly and pleading with my eyes. The walls of my pussy quiver a little, already craving more. The intense desire to be full and sated again takes over everything.

He shifts suddenly, pressing the full front of his body against me and resting his forehead on mine. He so much closer to where I want him now.

"When I fuck you, sweet girl, I won't have the patience to hold back. I'll bend you over that desk and pound your tight cunt until I've had my fill. Do you think you can handle that?" his mocking voice and the pressure of his body makes me moan, my back arching to feel some friction.

His hand slides up, rubbing the rough knit of my jumper on aching nipples before grasping my throat firmly again. Not enough pressure to stop me breathing, just enough grip to keep me exactly where he wants me.

"Please," is the only word I can form, the plea escaping my lips as I hunger for more words, more pressure, more everything.

"Are you sure?" he smirks, his breath flowing over my face.

His head stoops, bringing his lips to my cheek and trailing down the skin to reach me jaw. He presses a hot closed-mouthed kiss right on the ghost of the bruise as his elbow digs into my still-tender ribs. I yelp immediately, the pain cutting through the pleasure.

He chuckles, "That's what I thought."

He pulls away completely, leaving me panting against the wall, jeans still pulled halfway down my thighs. The cool air rushes to replace him, making me shiver.

He readjusts his jeans with a grimace and sits back down on the sofa, watching me just stand there.

"Power's back on," he notes, looking at the flashing LCD display on the DVD player, as if nothing ever happened.

I pull my jeans back up, feeling the sodden material of my panties pressed tightly back to my core. It's an odd sensation, having that release but still craving more. I close my eyes to will the lust away. He's made it clear I'm not getting any more.

The sound of him rummaging through the papers on my desk pulls me back. He finds my phone and goes back to the sofa with it.

"There's more snow forecast tonight. If we're lucky, it'll turn to rain and wash everything away," he sighs, as if that's unlikely.

Suddenly his extended stay doesn't feel like such a great thing. But I'm not going to let him see that it's bothering me. Spending another day close to this man knowing he won't push further after what he just did with his fingers will be torture.

"Fire needs doing," I point out.

He nods, his eyes busy trailing around the shelves and not looking at me.

I sigh then get to it, dragging a heavy bag of firewood from where he dropped it yesterday towards the fireplace. The flames travel languidly over the logs, slow to release their heat into the room.

"Do you want to watch this?" he asks, holding the Friends boxset out from its place on the shelf.

I debate it for a moment in my head, hoping he thinks I'm just deciding if I feel like watching it. The box holding the DVDs is a little tatty, clueing him in to the fact that I've watched it all before. Maybe watching something so mundane and boring will be good for me. Maybe it will dull down the flames and aches still twisting in me. But if he asks me something about the show, I won't be able to answer, and I don't know how I can explain my way out of that scenario.

He shrugs at my indecisiveness. "I haven't seen it in years, I'm not sure I ever watched them all in order before."

That decides it for me, the risk is worth it. "Sure, let's watch from the beginning then."

We sit back down when the DVD starts playing, each on opposite ends of the sofa, leaving as much space between us as possible.

I watch him for a while, seeing the TV reflected in his eyes.

"Watch it, Bella," he commands without even looking at me.

I huff and turn my attention to the banality taking place on the silver screen. The pretty 90s bride is going on about hats and shoes. What a dull stereotype. I'm not sure how much I can take of this.

"Their lives are so boring," I admit to him, "why did they make this into a TV show?"

He looks at me oddly. "That's part of the comedy, just watch it. Pay attention."

The first few episodes are a little stilted, but the further we get into the first series the more relaxed Edward is. He grins and laughs, his lightened mood rubbing off on me. I want in on the joke. So, I start paying more attention.

These dull people are a little amusing, I admit to myself, even if some of the jokes have aged terribly.

The heat from the fire and the release from earlier finally take effect, my bones sinking into the sofa. Any tension I had is gone. With Edward here, watching silly TV shows, I feel mellow. I feel present.


	13. Chapter 13

But the mellow feeling doesn't last forever.

9 episodes of Friends later and over 3 hours have passed. I'm still here and he's still here. Just sitting here, watching.

And yes, it's agony. Not just because of the sexual tension in the room.

The desire to get up and move is getting stronger, the longer I sit here. I hadn't realised how much movement was associated with my fantasies until recently, until I'd had to restrain myself. I want to move now, I want to use my new-found sexually satisfied state to explore new characters and scenarios.

And there's the snow too. The sun is out and the world outside the kitchen window is a glittering planet just waiting to be explored. If Edward wasn't here and I wasn't snowed in, I'd definitely be out there with my headphones on.

All this sitting is making me restless. My muscles tense every now and then when my mind gets carried away and my body lurches to get up and move.

I run through this morning's events 100 times over and imagine different endings and wondering what it all means. His anger this morning wasn't what I initially thought. He wasn't angry at me – he didn't realise I had even initiated anything. So, the two options left are that he was angry at himself, or he just _really_ isn't a morning person. If he was angry at himself, it would suggest that he didn't want to do anything beyond what friends would do, and he was upset that something had happened.

But the way he talked to me, controlled me until I came all over his hand… and how he told me he'd fuck me over the desk. A gush of wetness seeps into my panties at the thought.

He definitely felt that lust too. He was hard and throbbing already when he pushed me against the wall, it wasn't just a reaction to my body against his that second time.

I shift on the sofa slightly and bring my attention back to Friends, noting a few things from the storyline in case it comes up later.

Then I'm back inside my head.

We need to talk, that much is obvious. My limited real-world experienced combined with knowledge from books and film tells me that men don't like talking about emotional type things. I hope it's just a stereotype. I really need some clarity on what the hell is going on.

Movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention. He fidgets quite a bit, moving his hands about. Compared to Edward, I'm doing a good job of sitting still. I guess he's so used to always having something to carve in his hands, or something practical to do. That's why they're so deliciously rough.

Guilt wracks over me. Twice I left him hard today with no relief. I know how painful that frustration can be, although I guess it's worse for a man.

We both breathe a sigh of relief when the DVD finally stops playing and the cottage lapses into silence. He checks my phone for the umpteenth time.

"Rest of the snow should be here soon," he tells me, sounding as bored as he looks.

We manage another 3 minutes in silence on the sofa before he gets up and wanders aimlessly to the window in the kitchen. He examines the frame, then opens it wide letting the bright cool air inside.

He looks at me then back at the window frame, measuring it up.

"There's a shovel at my house that could dig us out," he muses.

Realisation hits me. "No, I'm not crawling through the window and walking all the way to the village if there's more snow on the way."

"I was actually thinking about tomorrow," he grumbles but lets it slide, closing the window and locking it shut firmly. "I'll call Emmett, see if he can come by to dig us out in the morning," he reaches for his Nokia and dials the number.

He paces while it rings, like a wild animal trapped in a cage. He wants out of here but at least it seems like he's planning on staying tonight too. That should give me enough time to find an opportunity to talk to him, ask the questions I've been wondering how to ask.

He motions for me to give up my sofa spot so he can get the best signal for his call.

I move to the kitchen while I half listen to his side of the conversation. Emmett isn't keen on walking out here, he thinks the snow will clear itself in a day or two anyway. I look out over the diamond crystals lining the back garden, noticing tiny tracks where birds hopped about to peck the longest specks of wild grass peeping through the snowy blanket. It's serene and peaceful, just begging for me to scoop up the top layer in my hands to feel the cold dripping texture as it melts between my fingers.

"What do you do here all day?" his exasperated voice asks from the sofa.

_I spend hours playing and exploring in my own head._

"When I'm not working, I read and watch the TV mostly."

He says nothing, waiting for me to continue.

"Um, I spend some time doing yoga and listening to music played through my laptop. I guess I enjoy walking too. Getting to the village and back takes some time."

I cringe at my words. My life sounds lifeless without the fantasies in it.

"There's nothing to do," he summarises.

_You could do me, preferably over the desk like you promised._

I shrug and move to the fridge, starting to plan our dinner so my hands have something to do at least.

Finally settling on marinated chicken, dauphinoise potatoes and steamed veg, I start the prep and try to ignore his pacing behind me.

I'm halfway through slicing the potatoes when he finally works out how to play music through the speakers from my laptop. He flicks from song to song, pausing long enough to work out the first few notes and then switching it up.

I let out a groan – internally – when he selects one of my favourites for drifting away in the afternoon. The sultry lyrics and guitar solo always fill me with energy. I decide I can get away with swaying my hips a little as it plays as it's impossible for me to stand still and listen.

The heat from the stove in front of me brings blood rushing to my cheeks, planting steamy summer thoughts in my mind. I sway with a little more purpose, feeling the soft cotton of my dress brushing my thighs and the heat from the fire sending a warm glowing light over my features. With my long braided hair brushing my ass as I lean back and let the rhythm guide my body, I feel eyes on me.

He's watching me from across the street, his gaze predatory as he leans back into the metal chair, reaching for his glass on the table and never breaking our eye contact as he takes a sip.

I turn back around, hiding from his eyes teasingly and letting my swaying hips and pert ass do the taunting. Anticipation burns through me as I wonder if he'll come over and dance with me. Firm hands on my waist don't disappoint, holding me one place as my hips continue to push and pull with the music.

"You're burning the potatoes," his whispers in my ear.

My eyes snap open and fuck, he's right.

"Uh, thanks. Guess I drifted off for a bit there," I mumble and swiftly turn the stove off.

His hands don't release my waist, they stay firm and heavy in place.

"Is this okay?" he says, his breath tickling my ear.

_Sure, now he asks._

He continues after my silent response. "All of it, I mean. Staying here, touching you…" his voice trails off. "I should have asked before, I know. It just… all got carried away. Is this okay?"

My voice catches in my throat a little as I whisper back, "yes."

There's pressure on the top of my head and I melt a little when I realise it's his lips pressing to my hair.

He leans down a little to talk in my ear again.

"At the risk of sounding like a teenager… I like you, Bella."

I focus on the potatoes for a moment then decide to use this time to hopefully get some answers. Somehow it's easier to talk when I can feel him but not see him.

"Are you sure you like me? All I seem to do is infuriate you," I finally find the guts to ask.

His hands tug at my waist, pulling me around so I have to look at him. I drag my eyes up to his face.

"Yes, I'm sure I like you," he hesitates as he searches for the right words, "even though you infuriate me so much, I still come back. You're interesting. Intelligent when you've got your head on straight. Sometimes you're funny too. Not to mention attractive."

I watch him for a moment, unsure what to say and worried that if I start to say that I like him too, all my weird obsessing and fantasies about this amazing man will flood out. He'd run for the hills.

My silence sends him backtracking. "If this is just physical for you, I get that. It's cool." He shrugs like it means nothing, building walls back up. "I know I'm not very likeable a lot of the time I'm around you, what with being so easily infuriated. We can just go back to being friends if that's what you want."

"I don't want that," I finally manager to choke the words out. "I like… this. I like being close to you and spending time with you. And I like the physical stuff as well…" my cheeks burn at admitting this out loud.

Our actions have said a lot over the past few days, but for some reason saying it all out loud is utterly terrifying.

He smiles crookedly, pulling one side of his mouth up like he's casually happy, but his eyes give him away. The vivid greens are truly dazzling.

"What is it exactly that infuriates you so much about me?" I regret asking as soon as the words slip out. His face falls sombre instantly.

"Just some of the things you do. Or don't do." He answers, vaguely.

It's not enough.

"But what is it exactly? Why me? You don't get this angry at Rose or Emmett," I look deep into his eyes, trying to find the answers there.

He's silent for a long while. Minutes go past, or maybe it's seconds. The air feels thick between us.

Finally, he answers in a quiet, restrained voice. "You remind me of someone who could have had it all. But they made similar mistakes to you, shutting out the world, refusing to see reality, refusing help when they needed it. Failing to connect with people. It didn't end well."

Jealousy surges through me at the idea of him knowing someone intimately enough to know that. My jealousy transforms to guilt. Whoever it was has left him sad and angry, and I've just gone and brought their memories to the surface. My eyes drop.

"I'm not all that bad," I pull together a defence as he walks over to the tiny table and sits back in a wooden chair to watch me work. "I can cook and I'm self-employed. I pay all the bills on time. I know how to survive."

"It's a start," he agrees. His voice is stronger but not as bright as before. I silently curse myself for ruining the moment.

We lapse back into silence, soft notes from the speakers creating a gentle atmosphere. Flickers catch my eye at the window.

"The snow's here," I tell him.

He nods in my peripheral vision, settling his spine back into the chair.

It's tranquil tonight, the flakes fall softly to join their brothers and sisters already laying thick on the ground. It's the kind of peaceful snowfall you expect from happy Christmas films where everything is perfect and Santa saves the day once again. To my great surprise, I'm actually smiling at the thought of terribly cheesy TV films. I feel… good.

I hum softly and sway my hips a little again as the music changes, but this time I'm determined to stay in the present. I take a peek at Edward, he's watching me with a small smile, spinning a forgotten baby potato on the table absentmindedly with his fingers.

When everything's in the oven and it's just the timer that we're waiting for, I restock the fire and bump up the playlist to last another hour or so. I don't want this to end.

He clears the table, as if he's read my mind about wanting to eat there. I pull out the plates and cutlery ready, wishing I had some kind of alcoholic drink to offer him as he sits there. I jam my thumb onto the timer button on the cooker again. Only 1 minute has passed, dammit.

"So, Emmett won't come dig us out?" I break the silence nervously.

"He said he'd come by if he found the time. He's got Alice with him right now," he explains. "She's curious to meet you, now we've convinced her you're not a witch."

"I wouldn't know what to say to her," I admit. "I've never looked after a kid before, or even held a baby."

He chuckles, "Alice is starting school soon, so you don't need to worry about holding her."

The beeper finally goes off, breaking the air with shrill bursts. I let the food sit on the side for a few minutes, tapping my hands on my thighs impatiently as I wait for it to stop bubbling.

We eat in comfortable silence, the strumming guitar music filling our ears and a hot meal filling our bellies. I watch him eat as I chew on some green beans, suddenly realising how surreal this all is.

There's a man sitting in my kitchen, eating dinner with me. And he wants to be more than friends. AND I haven't imagined it.

I fight the smile, trying not to seem like I've gone crazy when he glances up and notices I've stopped eating.

"You're allowed to be happy, Bella," he smiles back at me.


	14. Chapter 14

We spend another evening by the fire, with the music still playing and nothing to do but listen and feel. His arms are wrapped around me, my back to his firm chest. He plays with the seam on my jumper, never able to keep his hands perfectly still for long.

The gentle motion of his fingers and the steady, reliable movement of his chest as he breathes is better than any lullaby. I can feel myself falling slowly into the dreamworld right here, sitting upright on the sofa.

"Bella," he calls. His voice is soft again, like that first evening after the snowstorm. This is the Edward that will win over my heart completely.

_Your heart? Slow down a minute. You're jumping 5 chapters ahead._

The thought snaps me awake again, my muscles tensing slightly as I cringe at my own naivety. Thinking about love the second he says he likes you. So silly.

He moves his arms so I can move away a little and turn around to face him.

"You were falling asleep for a moment there, do you want to go up to bed?" he asks. "I'll be fine here on the sofa," he quickly tacks on the end.

The thought of my bed is tempting. My body is aching after spending last night on the sofa with him… and the release he gave me this afternoon.

"Sure, I'll bring you a pillow first," I reply, blinking away the sleep that's fallen over my eyes.

"Thanks," he sounds nervous.

I'm halfway up the stairs before he calls to me again.

"Do you mind if I put my clothes in your washing machine and dryer overnight?" he asks, still sitting on the sofa facing the fire.

"Oh, yeah of course," I stumble over my words, realising he's been in the same clothes the past 2 days. "Um, if you want to use the bath just go for it."

I take one of my pillows off the bed downstairs for him, feeling a little guilty that I only have 1 comforter. Although with the patchwork quilt and the fire downstairs, he'll probably be warmer than me.

I hand him the pillow and watch nervously as he fluffs it up and places it by the arm of the sofa. I'm hovering now, unsure what to do but certain that I don't want to go to bed just yet.

He watches me for a moment and when I meet his eyes, I can tell he's as nervous as I am. The knowledge comforts me, so I try out a reassuring smile with my lips.

His answering grin is magnificent as he closes the gap between us and captures my face in his hands, gently cupping my jaw and sliding fingers into my hair. He brings my face closer to his until I'm perched on tip toes, my arms come up to cling to his for balance.

Dark green eyes on mine are curious and alive as he revels in my reaction to our proximity again. Without warning, he leans down and captures my mouth with his.

The softness of his lips contrasts wickedly with the light scratch of stubble. With my face still caught in grasp, I'm powerless to him as he holds me there.

My lips part slightly, thirsty to drink him in and taste the scent of his breath on my tongue. He responds gently, exploring the feel of my lips on his as he presses firmly against me. Wanting more, I capture his lower lip between mine, twisting against his hands to get closer. Deeper.

The way he kisses me, languid and relaxed yet burning with passion… it's bewildering. All I can do is move with him as my mind grows fuzzy. There's nothing to think about other than this.

His lips smile against mine when I let out a soft hum at the touch of his tongue reaching for me. And then he slows down. He pulls away, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of my mouth one last time before releasing me from his grasp.

"Goodnight, Bella."

It takes an embarrassingly long pause before I can say goodnight in return. I grip the banister as I make my way back upstairs, leaving all the heat and passion downstairs.

~

An hour later and I'm still laying in bed, feeling wide awake. I can hear the washing machine churning away, reminding me with each cycle that Edward is downstairs on the sofa, naked by the fire.

The thought of touching myself at this fact seems so lame, so perverted. So I just lay here and think about what I would do if I went downstairs right now. Or better yet, if he came up here.

I listen harder, my ears picking up a soft snowy shuffle outside as an animal passes by. But there's no noise from Edward.

I roll back onto my side and scrunch my eyes closed. I feel like a kid waiting for Santa to visit. Eventually the floorboards downstairs creak as he gets up to move his wet clothes into the dryer, and I fall asleep imaging he's crawled into my bed and is sleeping besides me, a content smile on my lips.

~

He turns down my offer about the bath in the morning, just washing up using the sink basin while I put some bread in the toaster.

The snow added a fresh layer to the ground last night but it didn't drift. The tops of the windows are growing lighter where the snow stuck to the side of the cottage begins to melt in the morning sun. If those clouds hold off, Edward will be free by mid-afternoon.

I'm not as sad about that as I once was. I know I'll see him again. Whatever we have started is far from over.

"Have you got any Marmite?" he asks, rummaging through cupboards.

"No, and never will," I reply, wrinkling my nose at the thought of that dire gunk. It shouldn't be classed as food.

"Your loss," he chuckles, reaching for the butter instead.

Edward woke me up this morning, the creaking stairs making me jump out of my skin before I remembered he was here. His clothes were already back on, clean and soft. He just needed to use the bathroom.

The bang of the gate out the front of the cottage interrupts breakfast, followed by the steady sound of snow being shovelled away.

"That'll be Emmett," Edward states, not bothering to try to peer out the snow-covered windows like I am.

"You're free," I reply.

He smiles at that. "What day is it?" he asks. I try to think back but I've lost track. My phone tells me it's Sunday.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," he confirms, placing his breakfast plate in the sink and brushing crumbs from his hands.

Ugh, that means work tomorrow. All I want to do is spend more time with Edward, trapped in this bubble.

He walks over to the door and shrugs his leather jacket back on.

"Hey Em, what time do you call this?" He calls in a loud voice through the door.

Emmett's reply is so loud the window frames would be rattling if not for the snow. "Pussy. You could have dug yourself out of this. People have been walking past here in the snow, it's only you two acting like the world has ended."

Edward rolls his eyes at the door, sitting down on the bottom step of the staircase to wait for Emmett to break him out. He pats the spot next to him, beckoning me to join him. His leather-clad arm around me feels so different to the soft touch of his clothes underneath.

We jump when Emmett's shovel thuds against the door. "Touchdown," he celebrates, his voice sounding so close now the snow fortress is all dug away.

Edward pulls on his coat, glancing around the room and patting his pockets until he finds the Nokia.

"You ever coming out?" Emmett asks, impatiently.

"One second," Edward calls back, jamming his foot against the door in anticipation of Emmett trying to force his way in.

He turns to me and leans down to kiss me again. Knowing I won't see him until tomorrow, I finally let my fingers weave into his hair and pull him closer. The auburn strands are thicker than they look, slightly wiry and stubborn in my fingers as we kiss. His tongue pushing over my lower lip to reach mine makes me groan into his mouth.

I can't remember the last time I shared a kiss. University probably. I'm sure I've never been kissed like this though.

Emmett breaks us up. "Dude, how long does it take to pull on a pair of trousers?" his voice booms.

My cheeks flush and I pull away, embarrassed.

"He's only joking," Edward whispers to me, brushing his fingers over my flushed cheeks and only making the blush deepen.

He lets me go and opens the door.

"Don't do anything stupid," is his leaving remark as he ducks out of the doorway and into the now snow-free garden pathway. I can feel Emmett's eyes on me, but I avoid them.

I stand by the door watching them jostle as they walk away from the cottage.

"Guess I owe you," Edward says, watching his feet as he steps over an icy patch.

Emmett grumbles a response but they're already too far away for me to hear it, their long strides taking them away from me and towards reality again.

I close the door when my feet start to feel numb.

~

By Wednesday, things are back to normal again. I sit in the workshop typing away and listening to Edward work on a new line of love spoons that Emmett wants to try selling online. Even after all his resistance and moaning against the idea, Edward is helping Emmett with his new business venture. I get the sense that Edward will always have Emmett's back, no matter how ludicrous his plan is. I feel weird when I watch them sometimes. It took a while to realise that what I'm feeling is envy. It's an ugly thought that I try to push away.

Besides that, life is bliss right now. The snow has lingered long enough for me to explore it and drift away, tracking snow leopards and hiding out in igloos as I travel across the frozen tundra on my way to the workshop.

We haven't really talked about what happened in the snowstorm, what with Emmett being able to overhear everything.

Sometimes we share moments when Emmett's gone out to get something from the SPAR. A shared knowing look, a tender touch. There's a tiny spot in my mind that wonders if Edward wants to hide me, hide what we have done… and are doing. But I don't really mind.

It's not that we're scared, it's just that it's delicate.

I wouldn't be comfortable with all that public affection and attention anyway, even if our audience is just one person.

The sound of the door closing and the slush of melting snow being dragged across the carpet alerts us to Emmett's return.

"So this is where you've been holding Bella hostage," Rosalie's light voice carries over the workshop. Surprise colours my face and from the look of Edward, he's surprised too.

I've never seen Rosalie outside of the SPAR. She's taller than I thought, wrapped in an elegant black coat with pink mittens. She sends me a smile, smirks at Edward, then turns to follow Emmett back to the front of the shop.

"I brought lunch," she calls out.

We eat together with our new addition, their conversation drifts away as my mind goes elsewhere. My jaw is pretty much healed, I've no trouble eating now… and I know what that means. I've imagined Edward pushing me over the desk as promised a million times, imaging what his hands will feel like gripping my hips. Or pushing down on my lower back. Or pulling my hair sharply back towards him as he fucks me raw.

"Are you in, Bella?" Rosalie asks, completely unaware that I've been mentally fucking Edward for the past 20 minutes.

I swallow that last piece of sandwich. "In what?" I ask, trying not to look as bewildered and distracted as I feel.

I'm not fooling her, she looks at me like I'm crazy.

Edward fills me in. "The SPAR Christmas party. The meal is for employees only but we're all going to the pub afterwards for a few rounds with everyone."

"Oh. When is it?" I stall a little, as if I have a busy social calendar already.

"This Saturday, I literally just said that," Rosalie tells me, sounding irritated.

"Sorry, I wasn't listening," I mumble to appease her.

"Okay, fine. Come round at 4, I can do your hair for you," Rosalie says, dismissively as she stands up and pulls her coat back on. Her hand brushes against Emmett's as they both reach to take the rubbish off the table. She jerks her hand away like it's been burnt and makes a quick exit. Her hips sashay hypnotically as she walks back out of the store and towards the SPAR.

Edward clears his throat, reminding me not to just sit here and stare at her ass. It's okay though, Emmett's still focusing on eating, his expression unreadable.

"I guess I'm going, then," I mutter to myself.

Edward laughs. "She wasn't going to take no for an answer anyway."

When we're back in the workshop he tugs on my elbow and pulls me closer to his desk, guiding me into the spare chair and distracting me from my work.

"If you really don't want to go we can say you're sick," he talks quietly so Emmett won't overhear.

I settle back into the chair and watch him go back to his current carving.

"Why wouldn't I want to go?" I ask.

"There'll be a lot of people there, nearly half the village usually turns up. Loud music, people chatting, a little dancing…" he trails off.

"You don't think I can handle that? You're always telling me to get out more." I'm a little pissed at his assumption, but I can't deny that he's completely right. It's not my scene. Curling up at home with a book is more my thing.

"I just thought you'd be uncomfortable." He shrugs it away, eyes still focused on his work and avoiding me.

I'm uncomfortable thinking about it now but I know that if I sat at home on Saturday evening I'd regret not going.

The thought of dressing up nice for once sounds appealing too. I can't help being a little petty. I want to look good and feel good. Maybe even seduce Edward into fulfilling his promise later that evening. Butterflies fill my stomach at the thought of turning a fantasy into reality. A curvaceous, sexier Bella pops into existence in my brain, confident and graceful as she takes what she wants.

Okay, that's probably not going to happen, but maybe, just maybe, the seduction part could work.

"I'll go if you're going." I promise, the decision already permanent.


	15. Chapter 15

I've packed and unpacked my bag at least five times before I finally decide on what I'm taking with me. Rose texted me a list of what to bring and where to go Friday evening. I forced myself to text back confirming the list, making sure I couldn't chicken out by saying I never got the message.

I check one last time, making sure I've got everything I could possibly need. It will be too dark to walk back to the cottage when the evening is over, so I've got overnight gear with me. It's all been a little too vague for my liking. I've no idea where I'll be sleeping tonight but I've been assured 'it will all work out on the night'. For them – Edward, Emmett and Rosalie – it's just a semi-casual celebration at the pub. For me, it's a social and logistical challenge fraught with so many potholes I could fall down.

But Edward will be there. He never fails to completely absorb me. He makes conversation so smooth, like it's natural. And for all his anger and bursts of violence, Edward has a possessive streak. He's protected me when I've needed him. I can't deny liking that side of him as much as the soft, caring side. He's complex and all-consuming, and I'm just dying to be consumed.

I can't put this off any longer or I'll be late. With a sigh, I pull on my boots – my evening shoes in the heavy backpack – and zip my coat up warm. The snow has mostly gone, just a few muddy patches clinging to ditches and lingering under hedgerows, but the temperature has dropped considerably. The air outside is biting cold, freezing my lungs and sending chills down my back when the bitter wind breaks through my hair to stroke my neck.

I lock the door with gloved fingers, trying to push down the feeling that I've forgotten something, then head off towards the village.

I've not had headphones on for any of my walks since that fateful day that send me tumbling into the valley. My ears only pick up the sound of the winter winds and distant bird song, a backdrop to the rhythmic thuds and crunches of my boots hitting the frozen ground.

With nothing to think about besides tonight, my stomach begins to churn and nerves threaten to spill over. So, I let my mind drift a little, taking me away to Middle Earth for a quick escape. I track orcs across the wild plains, old stone walls marking fields transform into ancient ruins and monuments as I pass them. I'm light, nimble and fluid as I travel across the land, even with my backpack weighing me down.

I'm cautious as I enter the woods on the final leg of our journey, keeping an eye on the trees for any movement. Never underestimate an Ent.

A twig snaps behind me, causing me to stumble just a little bit from the path. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

_It was probably just an animal. A squirrel or bird._

I walk a little faster, my ears tuned and focused on the path behind me. This is a public footpath but I've never seen anyone use it but me. And Edward that one time.

Another twig snaps and my ears start to pick up leaves rustling with footsteps, I breathe heavily through my mouth, not quite understanding what is freaking me out so much… but completely unable to stop the fear rolling through me.

Like the monsters under the bed and the shadow lurking in the cupboard, I know that I can't turn around and look at whatever is following me. Whoever is following me.

Light in front of me where the path breaks from the trees into the village spurs me on, my feet picking up the pace as cool concrete and premature Christmas lights beckon me to safety.

Only when I'm fully out in the open, with Edward's house on my right side, do I work up the courage to turn around.

There's no one there. The woods are quiet and gloomy but unassuming. There's nothing out of the ordinary here.

I push out a sigh through my nose, feeling like a fool yet again.

_Your imagination is getting out of control._

It's a pattern that's emerging. As wonderful and magnetic as Edward is, the absence of his presence and the worrisome nerves that sit in my stomach cause my brain to seek solace in fantasies even more than usual. I slip away so easily when he isn't around, delving into darker fantasies I didn't even realise I was capable of.

When we're together, it's a different story. Those fantasies, the ones that come into focus when I can feel his presence near me, are exciting. They're adventures, but they're… warm. More often than not, he appears in those daydreams with me as a companion for my adventures.

I reach into my pocket for my phone and reread the instructions Rose sent me to get to her house. She lives in the rat maze too. I finally find the frosted glass door with flecked blue paint edges and tap my knuckles on the frame. It's the complete opposite of Rosalie. She's always struck me as fresh, floral, elegant and refined. But this terraced house is old, decaying and desperate for a little love.

I see her figure come up to the front door behind the glass and hear the chain rattling as she unlocks it. She pulls it open and beckons me inside with her hand, motioning for me to be quiet.

Her long, pale legs are bare under the lilac robe she's wearing, her hair pulled back into an updo with twists and clips that I could never work out how to weave in.

I shuffle by her so she can close the door. Her home has that murky stale smell, like the windows aren't opened as often as they should. It's like that homey smell that you can never detect in your own home because you're too familiar with it.

"Ma's asleep, so we gotta be quiet," she explains, looking nervously at a closed door that I would guess leads to the front room.

We tiptoe upstairs and into her room. The walls are painted a soft blush pink colour, not too girly but still effortlessly feminine. Square marks show where posters and frames have been moved about over the years, the sun bleaching the life from the pretty paint colour.

It's a small room, the window partially obscured by a large vanity desk with those 3 angled mirrors. It's covered in all kinds of beauty products imaginable, each organised in a specific place. Glass bottles, plastic tubes and applicators sit in their rows, ready to launch a war on my skin.

Clothes and shoes are spilling out of the cupboards and the bed is unmade. Little trinkets are littered around the room, combined with childhood memories and worn stuffed toys – signs that she's tried to update the room as she's grown more mature, but the heart of the teenage girl is hard to quash. There are glimpses of her everywhere.

She closes the door behind us gently and flops down on the bed.

"Okay, first show me what you're going to wear," she demands, her voice confident and firm.

I pull my backpack off and start rustling through it, pulling out the heeled booties and satiny forest green dress. I wanted to wear something dark blue, remembering Edward once told me it was his favourite colour, but I couldn't find anything suitable in that colour in my wardrobe. This dress looks good on me though and I love the way it feels. The soft slip of fabric over my body, the way the thin spaghetti straps are light as feathers on my shoulders and the way it clings to me. The neckline is low, highlighting my modest breasts and the fit around my torso is just right. Not skin-tight or stretched, but like it was sewn to contour my curves. The skirt flairs out a little, feeling delicious as it slides over my ass and sways a little with each step, ending mid-thigh.

I pull out a black cardigan and tights to go with it.

She nods appreciatively at the dress but doesn't seem that impressed with my booties. They're black leather with laces and a chunky heel. Not too high. They're comfortable and warm.

"Did you bring any other shoes?" she asks, a hint of a sneer in her voice.

"No, I want to wear these ones," my voice isn't as confident as I'd like, but she doesn't argue.

"Okay, let's do your hair and makeup first. Sit," she points at the stall facing the vanity desk. I sit obediently and watch in the mirror as she starts rummaging in a box under her bed, finally emerging with a curling iron.

"We're going for soft, natural curls with a little bounce," she informs me.

She starts with a brush, pulling out tangles with a little too much vigour. I hold back a few winces, watching her passive face in the mirror.

Once she's done with the brush she starts spraying hair products and oils into her hands, running them through my hair and lightly scratching my scalp with her long nails. It's been a long while since my hair was touched like this. Since I discovered that I could cut my hair to one equal length by myself with kitchen scissors in university, I'd always skipped the salon. It was an unnecessary expense my student budget wouldn't stretch to.

I focus on the photos jammed under the frames of the mirror to stop my eyes closing at the sensation of having my hair caressed. They show a young blonde girl, her blue eyes sparkling cheekily as she poses for the camera with a group of 5 others. They're the popular girls at school, each perfectly styled but different, like a well-managed pop girl group with professional stylists behind the scenes. There are a few like this, showing the evolution of Rosalie as she goes from cute schoolgirl to curvaceous young woman, always at the centre of her girl group.

"Will your friends be there tonight?" I ask her as we wait for the hair products to soak in and protect my chocolate strands from the curling iron.

"No, they don't live here anymore," she replies quietly, looking at the memories plastered to the mirror edges.

Her tone tells me not to push, so I just lapse back into silence. She surprises me when she opens up a little further.

"They all went on to university. The two on the left haven't been in contact since high school. The other three pass through occasionally. One is now a marketing manager in London, another opened a boutique in Cardiff, and the one on the end is a housewife. She has two babies now." Rosalie tells me, her voice quiet to mask emotions lingering under the surface.

It's obvious she's lonely without them. Pity washes over me for her. It didn't matter that she was the most beautiful girl in school, she was the one that got left behind. I wonder what's keeping her here in this rundown house, living one day to the next with a menial store job.

I'm glad I decided to come here. I'll never be like one of those girls in the pictures but if playing Barbie for Rose so she can do my hair makes her feel a bit better, I'm happy to oblige. The feeling of her hands in my hair, the comfortable silence as she works on me, it feels good. I realise I've missed having another girl around. The last girl I called friend was Jess, back in high school.

I focus my eyes back on the pictures, hoping my emotions didn't play out on my face for Rose to see in the mirror.

"You were prom queen," I note, looking at a picture of Rosalie in a pink sequined dress and sash. She's beaming in the picture without a care in the world. From the looks of the stage, they had their prom in a village hall or maybe even a church. The glitz and glamour of American proms not quite transferring to small Welsh town life. It clearly doesn't matter. Rose was the star of the evening, the centre of attention, and that was enough for her.

"I had everything," she says with a wiry smile as memories take her back.

"What happened?" I whisper, hoping she'll elaborate and share a little more.

She pauses for a moment, locking a strand of hair in the curling iron, before she speaks. "There came a point when good looks and popularity weren't enough anymore."

I'm about to press for more when she interrupts me, pushing the topic away from her own tragedy.

"So, you and Edward, huh," she prompts, a little glimmer in her eyes.

"Uh, what do you mean?" I ask, not very convincingly.

She rolls her eyes. "Come on, it's obvious he's into you. The way you two look at each other since that snowstorm… something must have happened. Spill."

"Well, I kind of got lost in the storm and he helped me get home to wait it out, and…" I pause, not sure how to tell her. Or if I even should. I don't want her to laugh at me.

"And?" she digs, her expression completely absorbed in our conversation, the first real girl-talk she's had in years it seems.

"We, uh, kissed," I tell her, deciding to skip over the part where his talented fingers fucked me until I was a mess, begging for his cock.

Rose squeals a little. "I knew it."

I've no idea what to say next. Was I that obvious? Rose has only seen us together a bunch of times in the SPAR and workshop.

"So you like him?" Rose pushes when I don't offer any more details.

"You make it sound like a teenage crush," I mutter, watching my cheeks blush a little in the mirror.

"Adult life is overrated," she replies, like it's her mantra.

She continues in a more serious tone after a few more curls spring from the iron wand. "It's good, seeing him with you. I always knew there was more to him behind all the jokes and mocking. You bring Edward out of his shell more."

Her words shock me. Edward is so vibrant, so deep and complex with passionate emotions pushing me one way and another. He's not a recluse in my mind, he's never been shy or hidden his thoughts from me the way Rose is implying he has walls up for everyone else.

She chews the corner of her mouth a little as she plans her next words carefully.

"He told me a little of what happened, how he first met you, but I get the sense he gave me the watered-down version," she pauses to gauge my reaction. "I know he can be a little rough. He has a short temper and nothing riles him up more than the people he cares about getting hurt or upset.

"He cares about you, Bella. And I doubt he'll have said anything, because he's that sort of a man, but whatever he did to hurt you when he brought you the groceries I picked out… well, he was pretty shaken when he came back."

I'm listening intently to every word, little pieces of the Edward shaped puzzle falling into my hands. "What do you mean by shaken?" I ask, making no effort to hide my intrigue.

She shrugs. "Just… like he couldn't believe he did whatever he did."

Her voice is hesitant as she asks, "Did he hurt you, Bella?"

"No," I answer, thinking back to how my arms didn't bruise like I thought they would after his strong grasp. "He just scared me a little with his… anger. I barely knew him," I justify my answer.

"Well, whatever happened he seems resolved to not let himself scare you again."

She tugs on the cord of the curling iron to unplug it. "All done," she says with a soft smile, admiring her work. She's done a good job, my long chocolate curls are shiny from root to tip, hanging in gentle waves down my back and framing my face.

"Change now, you don't want to smudge any makeup by pulling your dress over your head," she commands.

We switch positions so she can work on her makeup. "Bathroom's the door on the left," she tells me as I grab my bag and head out of her room.

The bathroom is tiny but clean, a few tiles are missing from the wall but other than that it's in good condition. I'm carefully tugging my dress into place without flattening the curls when I hear a low moan floating up the stairs.

A door opens and Rose's footsteps descend down, followed by the muffled noise of a conversation between her and her Ma.

She's already back by the vanity desk when I emerge from the bathroom, her makeup all done.

"Not too much," I warn her when it's my turn in the chair again.

"Your skin is perfect anyway," she mutters with a hint of jealousy as she picks out mascara and a little lip colour for me.

I can't help the smile on my lips when I admire my reflection in the mirror. It feels good to be girly. I feel… pretty. Desirable. Dare I say, confident. I might even be looking forward to tonight.

Rose tugs on 3 different dresses before settling on a simple black one, completely at ease being in just her underwear even with me here. If I had her body, I like to think I'd be that confident too.

"I think you were right about the heeled boots," she murmurs. "High heels are too dressy for the pub."

She spends a good few minutes fussing over her appearance in the mirror before taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders.

"Right, I'm going now. The workers meal shouldn't take too long. Hour and a half at most. You brought something to do?"

I pull my book out of my bag, I'm all set.

"Good, Edward will come by when you need to leave. Here's the house key," she works it off the keyring and drops it into my hand. "Don't forget to lock up and make sure you give it back to me when you get to the pub.

"Ma will sleep right through the night now, she won't bother you so don't worry about that."

She nods once to herself, then walks swiftly out of the room and down the stairs. "See you later, Bella," she calls back up. I hear the front door close before I can reply.

I settle down on her bed, flicking on the bedside light so I can focus on the tale of 1920's decadence and old money. Even in a strange bedroom, the comfort of the well-known story makes time slip away. The sky outside is dark by the time a light knock on the front door pulls me away from my book.

Nerves flutter inside me as I pull my coat on over my cardigan and make sure I have all my essentials stashed in my handbag.

I grip the banister as I make my way downstairs, praying I don't trip in these boots. It's been a while since I wore any kind of heel.

The light from inside reflects off the glass door, making it impossible to see the outline of who's on the other side.

I slide the chain out and open the door, letting in the cold air and familiar scent. Green eyes meet mine, then drift over my body, lingering a little on my legs poking out from under my coat.

"Are you ready?" he asks, his voice smooth and soft with a little hint of eagerness. He pulls one hand out of his coat pocket and offers it to me.

I take it, using his firm grip to steady myself as I step outside. It takes a couple attempts to lock the front door, the key sticks in the lock until I've worked out how to twist it right.

He waits patiently, silently as I fumble around, then smiles when I finally turn back to him and reach for his hand again.

Edward pulls me gently, keeping a hold of my hand as he guides us out into the night and towards the sound of muffled music somewhere in the village, where Rosalie and Emmett are already waiting for us.

Taking a glance back at the forlorn house as we walk down the street, I realise that maybe on the inside Rosalie's not so unlike her home after all.


	16. Chapter 16

He takes my coat from me when we get to the pub, like a gentleman. My cardigan slips down my arm with the motion, revealing a sliver of skin and collar bones. His eyes trace my skin as he hangs up the coats, his face composed but his eyes are dark and hungry. I'd be lying if I said I didn't like it.

The pub, Kings Head, is packed with locals tonight. The regulars sit in rough jeans, muddy boots and flannel shirts by the bar, drinking pints and revisiting old conversations with lifetime friends. Everywhere else, the festivities are shining through. Young and old, everyone has made a little effort. There's music playing over the speakers, those good old rock Christmas songs that will never go out of style, muffling the conversation and laughter. The smell of alcohol and merry cheer hangs a little stagnant in the air – that old pub smell that won't wash out – but it's toasty warm in here, and I'm grateful for that.

Edward takes my hand again and pulls me through the crowd, heading to his usual spot where Rose and Emmett are waiting with a group of other faces. I'm introduced but their names might as well have been in a different language, I forgot them the moment we sat down. They don't pay me any attention, going right back to their conversations.

I'm sandwiched between Rose and Edward on the worn cushioned wall seat, feeling more excited than nervous as I sip the gin and tonic Rose saved for me and watch the people around us. It's so crowded but everyone is cheerful and I just blend right into the wall here. It's oddly comforting.

A familiar Christmas song plays and I softly sing along in my head, watching the way the guy opposite me smiles. Dimples appear in his cheeks, making him look almost angelic under a halo of gelled spiky blonde hair. He turns to the field mouse sitting besides him, her soft peanut butter hair feathering around her face, and talks enthusiastically about a football game.

I jump when rough fingers touch my thigh, wrapping around it and squeezing lightly. A comforting, almost friendly gesture… but it sends my body on fire. Edward leaves his hand there, resting hot on my thigh and slightly edged under the seam of green satin that's slipped up a little.

Another gulp of gin gives me the courage to turn my head enough to look at him. He's listening half-heartedly to the conversation, his dark green eyes alight under the pub lighting as they flicker to me, burning intensely for a second before flickering away again.

He moves his hand an inch higher and squeezes lightly once again, then takes his hand away completely. I fight the urge to rub my thighs together, knowing it will only kindle the flames.

The blonde ferret with dimples – I think his name is Mike – gets the next round. Another gin and tonic for us, Rose calls out.

"Lauren just had her nose done, can you tell?" Rose whispers in my ear, already several drinks ahead of everyone else. She gestures not so subtly by tilting her hair to the platinum blonde sitting right at the end of the table, batting her eyelids up at Emmett. He's completely oblivious, trying to down his pint before Mike gets back with the next one.

"It hasn't helped much," I whisper back, making Rosalie giggle. I feel a tinge of guilt, making fun of this woman I don't even know. But it makes Rose happy and, well, this Lauren is pretty cringey. She's pawing on Emmett's arm like she wants to wipe his skin off. She juts her chest out when he finally glances her way.

"Should have got her tits done instead," Rose mutters, less playful and more vengeful this time.

"Emmett's ignoring her," I say reassuringly. The way we're angled has Rose with her back to them. She doesn't say anything but she seems satisfied.

"Cheers," she smiles when our drinks arrive. I can't help but smile back, the alcohol warming my toes and numbing my usual social hang-ups.

She chats some more, telling me about the people we're sitting next to. I'm only half listening, offering a few hums and nods to keep her going. Edward's deeper voice fills in the background, a steady backdrop to everything. The warmth, the alcohol, having Edward so close… it's better than a lullaby. I sink back into the cushions more, letting my feet hang from the seat and sway a little through the air.

"…Bella got stuck in it too," Emmett's booming voice pulls me back into the conversation.

"Huh?" I mutter, bewildered by having so many eyes on me at once.

"The snowstorm," he chuckles at my blank expression.

I can only manage a mumbling "uh" in response.

"It drifted right up against the door," Edward's warm voice joins us, he places his hand on top of mine on the table where everyone can see, giving it a gentle squeeze before reaching for his pint. The mousy girl opposite stares at our hands, her mouth popping open in surprise before she can remember to close it.

"Not seen anything like it since that shit storm in 2011," he continues like he hasn't just set my world on fire.

"That was a bad year," Mike mumbles into his glass, his eyes still on me.

Emmett saves the day. "Shit, did I tell you guys about that time the Jeep took a nosedive into that frozen lake up by…" he has everyone's attention as he launches into a ridiculously exaggerated tale. My hand is still tingling, warm from his rough touch.

I want to grab his hand again, weave my fingers between his and let the warmth radiate through me. My lip finds its usual place between my teeth as I imagine actually having the courage to do that in a public place. The sticky lip gloss feels foreign on my tongue.

I feel his breath on my ear before he speaks. "You ok?" he asks, his voice a quite murmur, relaxed and happy with a slight tinge of concern. His scent washes over my face, musky and comforting. My hand shifts a few inches towards his, the unconscious movement startling me a little. I turn my face to look at him, my eyes wide as I gauge his reaction.

He instantly calms me as I melt into his eyes, deep emeralds dazzling me.

"Yeah, I'm good," my lips move of their own accord, whispering the truth without consulting me first.

One corner of his mouth pulls up in that signature smirk. We're close, I can see the minute stubble along his jaw and the long lashes on his eyelids as he blinks.

"Good," he practically smoulders back at me, shifting away for a moment so he can slip his hand between me and the seat. With his arm firmly around my waist, I'm tucked closer into his side, feeling the steady inhale and exhale as he breathes through the soft cotton of his button up shirt. His rough jeans stretch out long before him underneath the table as he relaxes into the seat, pulling me even closer.

I can feel eyes on me again but this time I couldn't care less, all I can focus on is the way the rough skin of his fingertips catches and pulls on the satin of my dress as his hand lingers underneath the cardigan.

He goes back to his conversation, content to just hold me here.

3 drinks pass us like this, another G&T and then some mulled wine for me. I can feel it going to my head a little but God, this just feels too good. I'm sitting here smiling to myself like an idiot simply because it's been far too long since I went out like this. Since I was around people, just listening to conversation and enjoying the company of a group.

The table jumps under my hands as Emmett gets up to buy the next round, already inebriated and a little unsteady underfoot as he knocks into the table.

I shift a little in Edward's arm to face Rose. He doesn't let go, he just continues to rub those little circles into my side with his thumb.

Rose smiles at me knowingly, making me blush as I struggle to keep the corners of my mouth from lifting along with her.

"Cosy?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Very," I reply, reaching for my drink to hide my smile as she laughs. "So, Emmett huh?" I ask, hoping that she'll offer up an explanation now we've both been plied with alcohol.

She sighs. "Yeah, Emmett," she replies like that explains it all.

"So you like him?" I repeat her words back to her from earlier and now it's her turn to blush, her cheeks turning rosy.

"It's complicated," she replies, then rolls her eyes at her own words for sounding like such a cliché.

I lean a little closer to her and whisper. "He's looking at you right now," my eyes jumping between her and Emmett, standing by the bar with his body angled towards us and a curious expression on his face.

"How do I look?" she whispers back, sounding a little nervous.

"Like a queen," I tell her because it's true.

She smiles for a moment but it fades a little at the corners. "It never goes anywhere," she confides in me, "there's too much baggage on both sides."

I don't know what to say to that, relationships aren't exactly my forte.

"I'll be right back, guard my drink," she mutters as she stands up, straightening her dress and sashaying across the pub to the ladies room. Emmett's eyes follow her like magnets. I hope they work out whatever is between them.

"It's been going on for years," Edward's voice breaks my thoughts as it rolls heavy and rich above my head. I hadn't realised he was listening.

"Why don't they get together? It's obvious they're into each other," I ask, hoping Edward can elaborate a little on the mystery that is Emmett and Rosalie.

I feel his shoulders shrug around me. "It _is _complicated, she wasn't lying," is all he gives me. His arm moves around me, lifting my chin with a rough, calloused finger so our eyes can meet again.

"You should come out more, it suits you," he tells me with his dark voice, tracing my flushed cheeks with his fingers where the warmth of the pub and the alcohol in my veins has made me glow. "You look good enough to eat."

"You want to eat me?" the words spill out before my brain hears the double meaning. My teeth sink into my plump glossy lip as I realise. His eyes flitter down to the soft pink flesh as I capture it and he lets out a low groan.

"Right here on this table," the lust in his voice adds a gravelly edge that makes muscles deep inside me tighten. "But that wouldn't be…" he searches for the right word, then draws it out slowly, "_appropriate, _would it." His gaze is so intense as we gravitate to one another.

"Perhaps I could steal a dance later?" he asks, trying to lighten the heavy, desire-laden mood between us, but it doesn't reach his eyes. They're still dark and ravenous.

"I'm a terrible dancer," I whisper back the excuse everyone uses when they don't want to embarrass themselves.

"Liar," he calls me out. "I've seen you dance," he reminds me of my summer fantasy with swaying hips and sultry beats from our time spent stranded in the cottage.

I lean closer, the scent of his alcohol-laced breath and desire aching in my bones pushing me brazenly forward. "True, I can dance. But it wouldn't be… _appropriate_ to dance like that here." His eyes get impossibly darker as we draw closer together, our lips almost touching. "Maybe I'll dance for you later. Just for you," I breathe out quietly as his face twists, nose brushing mine as his lips begin an agonisingly slow descent through the millimetre of static air between us.

"Hey, none of that," Emmett barks as us. Edward's eyes close tightly and his forehead creases into a scowl.

"Mind your own fucking business," he growls back, leaning away from me and resting his head back against the wall.

"No tonsil tennis at the table, that's the rule," Emmett sniggers back at him, too used to Edward's foul mood changes to be offended as he passes out the drinks.

Rose slips back into the seat next to me and hands me a tall glass. "Disaronno and coke, trust me you'll love it," she tells me confidently as she takes a few large gulps of hers, leaving fresh lipstick stains around the edge of the glass.

The Italian almond liqueur adds an extra sweet zip to the fizz of the cola. I imagine it would be good as an ice-cream float. I hum aloud at the thought.

I order another when that one's finished, feeling a soft buzz in my head as the faces swirl around me. Edward's hand on my waist is my tether to reality as my head swims.

The conversation flows freely now everyone's at least a little tipsy. I find myself laughing when Emmett launches into a movie reference, listening to the chorus of people calling out "everybody and their mums is packin' round here," in terrible farmer accents as a result. The reference is familiar but I can't quite place it. Not that it matters, I'm just happy to be included. Happiness surges through me, with something more simmering below the surface.

A happy sigh slips through my lips and I lean my head on Edward's shoulder. I should drink more often, it's making me so…. Floppy? Fluezy? Is that even a word?

_Sure, a life of alcoholism just so you can be normal. Never mind talking cohesively._

I'm too happy to pay any attention to that annoying voice in the back of my head.

He hums softly along with a song and I can feel myself drifting away to the low baritone notes as he bumbles along with The Pogues.

Rough hands squeezing my waist bring me back to life. My eyes flutter open to see a new forest of pint glasses on the table and our drunk friends laughing and swaying on the makeshift dancefloor. I must have fallen asleep right here.

I gaze up into emerald eyes, a fuzzy smile on my lips. Finally he leans down and presses his to mine. It's sweet and soft, a gentle hello. To start with. I press back against him trying to deepen the kiss as my hands lift, dying to pull on his hair. He pulls his face to the side before I can get there and leans closer to whisper "later" in my ear and place a chaste kiss on my cheek before standing up.

"It's my round, what are you having?"

I hum softly as I try to think. He chuckles. "Lemonade it is," he decides for me.

"Don't forget the vodka," I call after him as he weaves through the crowd. I stay seated for a few minutes, watching Rosalie laugh and dance with the mousy girl. Her blonde hair has been pulled out of it's updo, swishing down her back as her heart-shaped ass sways and bumps with the music. I think about placing my small hands on her waist for a moment, feeling her hourglass figure shimmer and sway with the music. It's not lust, it's just… I don't know. Admiration with a touch of curiosity.

2 songs pass while I sit here and watch the drunk dancers, the queue by the bar must be holding Edward up. I stretch my legs under the table, feeling the slip and slide of satin on my silky thighs. The thought of Edward's heavy weight between them is put to the back of my mind when I realise how much I really have to pee.

Standing up on wobbly feet as the lingering alcohol and blood settling in my body rushes up to my head. I make my way to where Rose disappeared into the ladies room earlier, stumbling around drunk Welshmen and their pretty gals tottering around in heels.

It's cool in here and the music fades away to a low thud. The window is propped open and both the stalls are empty. A strange girl beams at me from the mirror, her appearance shimmering as beautiful and fragile as a butterfly.

I sit down to relieve myself, not at all surprised to find my tiny thong still soaked with arousal from Edward's words earlier.

Splashing a little cold water on my neck and patting it dry to cool down the hot blood pulsing through my veins, I adjust the neckline of my dress and push back through the swinging door.

Loud bawdy shouts greet me as more pints are poured and the festivities go on. It's so crowded now with everyone on their feet, I can't even see our table from here. I push through, eager to get back to Edward.

A flash of auburn on my left, by the bustling bar, catches my eye. I stumble towards it, reaching out for Edward who's still struggling to order our drinks.

My hands finally land on the leather jacket as I reach up to my tiptoes and whisper "hey," in my most sultry voice in his ear.

"Well hello sweetheart," the foreign voice greets me. I stumble back but clammy hands have already clamped around my wrists. Auburn hair is slicked back with a receding hairline revealing acne spotted skin, slightly greasy and tinged yellow. This isn't Edward.

"S…so-sorry," I mutter, trying to look away from his cloudy blue eyes and pull myself from his grip.

The red head besides him lets out a peal of laughter, her bouncy curls jostling around her shoulders as her head falls back. "You've caught a mouse, James," her thick Welsh accent sounding off with her high baby soprano voice.

My mouth stutters around more words that don't quite make it past my lips.

"You're looking good, little mouse," his lewd voice makes bile rise up my throat as I tug harder. He releases my wrist only to grab my shoulder roughly and pull me towards them.

"Feeling hot? Let's take this outside," he pushes me backwards until I'm pressed against a firm chest. More fingers press down on my shoulders as James lets go. I'm pulled backwards towards the toilets again, stumbling over feet as James and the red head follow with sickly sweet smiles.

My breath leaves me in a rush as my foot falls down through the air for a second before landing on the rough tarmac as they drag me outside.

"That's far enough, Laurent," James' voice sneers to the unknown stranger still gripping my shoulders. "What should we do now?"


	17. Chapter 17

The red head jumps up to sit on the ledge running around the building, still watching me with wide eyes as Laurent's hands release me. I'm frozen where I stand, unable to get a message down to my legs.

James takes a small step towards me and my body tenses, watching his every move. He reaches into the inner pocket of his leather jacket, rummaging around for something. I jerk back a few steps as his hand lurches out…

…with nothing more than a pack of cigarettes. My movement triggers the motion sensor on the outdoor floodlight with an electric snap.

"Jesus," mutters Laurent, lifting his hand up to block the light from his face. He's young. Actually, they're all young. They look fresh out of college. Laurent's hand lands on my shoulders again, heavy because he's trying to steady himself, not to hold me captive. He's drunk as a skunk.

He staggers dizzily away to the wall and leans on it, his head bobbing around like his neck can no longer hold it still.

"You want one?" James asks, his hand still outstretched with the cigarettes. He looks nervous under the lights, his greasy teenage skin reflecting the bright fluorescence.

Maybe it's the alcohol or perhaps just relief that for once I'm glad this was an odd fantasy that got out of control. Whatever it is, it has me laughing.

_You're such an idiot._

My laughter makes the girl smile, her freckles and chubby baby cheeks glowing in the light.

"I don't smoke, but thanks," I reply when I've managed to claw back a little self-control.

He nods, looking a little dejected as his face falls.

"Hang with us anyway, mousey," the girl calls, swinging her legs, but I'm already making my way back inside.

"It's too cold for me," I call back, still feeling high on the relief that it was just my overactive imagination freaking me out.

The warmth of the pub welcomes me with open arms as I start to push back through the bodies, determined to reach our table again.

I'm trying to worm my way through a party of 7, all sloshing pints everywhere as they bark out laughter at some obscene joke, when I feel his hand on the small of my back.

"How was your fresh air?" Edward's voice appears in my ear, making me hold back a sigh at the pure smoothness of his voice. It's like when you drink a proper milkshake and it's just so rich and luxurious in your throat.

It takes a few more moments of pushing through drunk bodies before there's enough space to turn and look at him. His hair is erratic, pushed all over the place where he's been running fingers through it.

"Bracing," I mock shudder, rubbing my arms and pushing my breasts together with the motion, squeezing them against the low neckline.

He hums appreciatively. Both of us too drunk to keep up shy pretences as I rub my arms longer than needed and his eyes linger on my creamy flesh.

"I hope you didn't do that for James out there," his eyes return to mine, something flashing through the green too quick for me to pick up.

"If you saw me go out there, why didn't you come rescue me?" I ask, my arms falling still, crossed over my ribs.

He chuckles but it doesn't reach his eyes, "They're harmless, Bella. Creepy, sure, but harmless."

I stare at him a little longer, trying to figure him out. "Maybe I'll go back out there, if they're so harmless," I test him, letting my arms fall and smooth down my dress like I'm getting ready to leave.

His arms are on either side of me before I can make another move, leaning his head down and searching for my eyes. When they meet mine it takes my breath away. The darkness and the possessiveness is in full force – a forest at dusk – and there's anger too. I can't help but let my heart soar when it all clicks together. He's jealous.

My breath gets heavy as arousal pools deep inside me at his intensity, his strength as his arms trap me here. It's all-consuming, being wrapped up in Edward. I want him to push further, to put his hand back on my throat and tell me I'm not going anywhere.

What he actually does is so much better. He dips his head like he's going to kiss me, then lets his lips hover over my jaw, the hint of stubble tickling me as he slowly moves upwards towards the long-since-healed bruise. He keeps going, goosebumps prickling my arms as his hot breath trickles down my neck.

"Stay," he whispers in my ear. Just one word is all it takes for me to be putty in his hands. I wasn't stupid, I knew that he wanted me. Possibly as much as I want him. But that single word brings the uncertainty and nervousness out from the shadows of my mind and shatters them with a heavy blow. He wants me to stay, to be with him. His words make it all real, out in the open. It's the final nail in the coffin and I know in this moment, as drunk as I am, that I am his. I am completely his.

We fit together, and I know he feels it too. It just took that flash of jealousy to snap all the puzzle pieces together. For both of us to realise what we want.

Inhibitions fly away. It's just me and him, I've got nothing to hide anymore. "Always," I whisper back, shocked at the depth of my answer, but it feels right. Whatever changes he's made to me are permanent. There's no going back for me, but butterflies rise up in my stomach. Maybe it won't be so permanent for him.

He pulls back to look into my eyes again, smiling as he says, "After all this time?"

I breathe a little sigh of relief but can't help but feel a little disappointed too. He thinks I'm quoting Harry Potter.

_At least he didn't run for the hills._

He leans in closer, the length of his body pressing into mine until my ass hits the edge of the table, his long arms stretching out behind me. Pulling back far too soon, he hands me a fizzing half pint of lemonade.

Good, he got vodka in it too.

"Cheers," he winks at me, his eyes shining bright as our glasses clink together. They keep my gaze locked in them as I slurp at my lemonade, a drop rolling from the corner of my mouth and down my chin.

We laugh like it's the most hilarious thing that's happened all night.

"Come on, then," he tugs me towards the shuffling bodies, the room too full for people to dance freely.

Rose grins at me as we approach, taking my free hand and pulling me closer. Her skin is soft in my palm and she smells like perfume and sweet alcohol. "Dance with me, Bella," she sings lazily.

So, I do.

Blissed out and drunk, my head falls back as I move with her, knowing Edward is right behind me. I lose track of how many songs have passed until we're laughing and screeching out the lyrics to Come On Eileen, Emmett's booming voice carrying over everything else. If people were staring, I didn't notice. Or maybe I didn't care.

Only when the song changes to a slow, romantic ballad do we finally move back to the table, none of us feel like sobering up enough to slow dance.

Emmett slouches down in a worn wooden chair, pulling a giggling Rosalie down with him. She lands on the seat next to him, her legs resting on his lap as his fingers trace lines up from her ankles to the backs of her knees. They're completely absorbed in each other.

My bag has somehow ended up on the floor, no longer hidden under the piles of coats people left here. I lean down to grab it and feel dizzy when I sit back up, swaying slightly as the now quiet pub swirls before my eyes. I slide Rose's house key back to her across the table then turn back to Edward.

He's watching me, his eyes slightly hooded and smouldering again. "You're drunk," he smirks.

"So are you," is my clever retort.

He grins at that, then glances around the pub to the now vacant makeshift dancefloor.

"You still owe me a dance," he reminds me, his smirk turning sly.

I nod and scoot my ass closer, my head too fuzzy and happy to think up words or act coy.

His arm winds back around me, nails dragging slightly on the satin to trace patterns into my flushed skin underneath.

"You wanna get out of here?" he asks, low yet soft. Alluring, not demanding.

I hum and nod again, snuggling into his arm.

His grasp tightens on the half empty pint glass, bringing it to his lips as he tries to down it in one, giving up after a few mouthfuls.

"Fuck it," he mutters, abandoning it on the table and pulling himself up and onto his feet.

"We're off," he tells Emmett but he's not listening, still wooing a blushing Rosalie.

"Got everything?" he asks, giving me a once over.

"Our coats," I remind him.

He takes my hand and pulls me across the floor, a man on a mission.

"Yo, don't forget you've got Alice tomorrow," Emmett hollers at us, his eyes still focused on the woman besides him.

The cold air swarms us as we step outside, the music and quiet chatter fading away completely. It's damn cold, my dragon breath swirls up in front of me. But it's no match for the furnace of heat between my legs that's been burning low all evening. Nothing can dampen my arousal.

Edward tugs me back into his side, wrapping an arm around me as we take a slow walk under the streetlights.

"You're awfully smiley tonight," Edward teases me. I can't even deny it so I just turn to look at him and beam so more.

That makes him laugh and stumble a little. The loud sound bounces off the cars parked along here. I love it when he laughs like that. So carefree. Another side to Edward I want to know better.

We trundle along, smiling and jostling each other as our feet find unsteady ground.

He's left the porch light on so we can get up the concrete path to his house without tripping. I trip anyway, the bright light having no effect on my coordination. He manages to catch me in time and we stumble against the front door with a bang.

Long, rough fingers unlock the door with surprising accuracy considering the state we're in and we fly into the hallway.

The door thuds behind me as he shuts it and starts flicking on light switches.

His home smells like Edward intensified, the warmth from the heating he left on permeates right through me. I pull off my boots, leaning against the wall as he disappears to flick on more lights and draw curtains. The carpet is plush beneath my toes, moulding around my feet.

"Get comfortable," his voice calls from somewhere behind a wall.

I pad slowing into the front room, enjoying the softness below me. It's homely and so Edward. Light coloured walls and a standard sofa set are there from necessity, but the shelves are something else entirely. I stumble closer to the nearest one, reaching out to touch the curved wood. He made these shelves himself, I realise. The once gnarly branch sanded down smooth and flat to hold books and carvings. I reach out to touch it, feeling how sleek the wood is under my fingertips.

A glimpse of movement catches in the corner of my eye, but it's just my reflection in the TV. She looks wild, her cheeks still flushed and pupils wide.

Edward's not come back to find me yet so I stumble onto the sofa to get comfortable, as he asked.

The girl in the TV smiles sinfully as a thought crosses her mind.

I slip my hands up under the dress, reaching the edge of the tights and slowly tugging the clinging material down my legs. My bra goes next, carefully unclipped and removed from under my dress.

He said to get comfortable, after all.

I stand up to twirl, feeling the shift of satin over my nipples. They harden at the sensation.

I've come full circle before I feel his presence. He's watching me from the doorway, his eyes bemused.

"You look beautiful in that dress," he breaks the silence with a smile.

I nod. "It feels good," I hum back, tipping my head back a little and swaying, my eyes still locked with his as he moves closer like a predator stalking prey. Willing prey.

His hands come to my waist, pulling me the final step to close the distance between us.

"Comfortable?" he asks, moving his hands up my body on top of the dress, his thumbs lightly passing over hardened nipples straining against the satin. I push my body closer to him in answer, feeling his own hardness press into my belly.

His lips descend on mine before I can do anything else, a passionate kiss forcing my lips apart so his tongue can reach mine. Hands grab at my waist, sliding down to my hips and palming my ass as he drags me impossibly closer, my body bowing and bending to his. My hands reach up into his hair, tugging on the wiry copper strands to make him growl lowly at the pleasure and pain.

He breaks the kiss, leaving me gasping for air as his hands travel down to my thighs where my skin is silkiest. The rough on the smooth makes me whimper. "Up," he commands, his firm grip on my thighs helping me jump up and wrap my legs around him. He holds me there in his arms like I weigh nothing as I unashamedly grind my body into his, my lips still swollen from his rough kiss are parted as I pant.

A breathy moan escapes as I move my hips to push against his rigid cock, trying to break free from his jeans.

"Fuck, Bella," he mutters into my shoulder as his hands travel up to my ass for better grip, finding my skin bare and malleable under his fingers.

"Yes, please," I whimper back, grinding my satin covered pussy over him, desperate for a little attention.

He groans and nips at my neck, hands still cupping and squeezing my ass as he starts to move. The bulge in his jeans rubs against me deliciously with every step and he covers my mouth with his again to swallow my needy moans.

I'm hoisted higher until I'm pressed against his stomach so he can walk up the stairs. My thighs instinctively squeeze his toned torso, trying to find the friction again. I whimper out his name as we slowly ascend, one step at a time, squirming against him. Teeth tug hard on my nipple through the satin in response, pain shooting through the tight bud and making me gasp.

"Hold still," his rough voice snaps, nails digging into my ass to stop my hips gyrating against him so he can get up the last steps with a burst of energy.

He sends us crashing into a room, my weight toppling us over. I let out a shriek as I feel his knees give in and send us down in a mess of limbs, my legs still spread wide as he falls between them.

Curse words fly out of his mouth as he strains to hold himself over me instead of crushing me with his weight.

I can't help the giggle that falls from my lips. He doesn't see the funny side.

"Are you laughing at me, girl?" he growls, looking up at me with dark eyes and a thunderous expression that simultaneously sobers me up and increases the ache low in the pit of my belly. He crawls up me until he's pressed right where I need him, his hard cock settling against my pussy. I shift my hips a little so he's nestled right on top of my clit and claw at his back to get him to grind.

He doesn't indulge me, he just watches me try to squirm as he slowly lets more of his weight push down on me.

"Please, Edward," I beg for him to give me something, anything. It makes him smirk, having me completely at his mercy.

He leans down closer until all I can see are emeralds through my hooded eyes. My breast press against his chest with every breath, teasing me painfully as I'm pinned motionless beneath him.

"Not tonight," he whispers on my lips and then he's gone, cold air rushing to fill the emptiness he left behind.

Bed springs groan behind me as Edward collapses onto the bed. I twist onto my stomach and finally get to my feet, my head still spinning.

His rough hands readjust his jeans and he grimaces at the uncomfortable feeling.

"But… that's not fair," I try not to whine and fail miserably.

"We shouldn't have drunk that much," he mutters quietly, staring at the ceiling.

"Bu-" I start again but he quickly interrupts.

"I won't fuck you half-heartedly the first time when we're drunk," he snaps impatiently, then sighs and looks over at me swaying a little on my feet. "You might not remember this tomorrow anyway," he mumbles more to himself than to me.

His words sting but I'm not letting him give up.

"I'll remember," I tell him, sliding closer to the bed and playing with the hem of my dress.

"Bella," he calls to drag my attention away from my bare feet. His eyes are half closed but the greens of his irises shine bright anyway. "It needs to be," he struggles for the words, "it needs to be right."

I melt a little at his attempt to soften up and soothe the rejection I'm feeling. He wants, no he needs to control this. I give in, knowing I can manage the sweet torture of a very wet, needy pussy a little longer if it means he'll fuck me like he once promised. Taking a deep breath, I whisper "okay," and then climb onto the bed, trapping one of his muscular thighs between my legs and settling down.

"Just let me show you how much I…"

_Fucking hell, that was close._

I gulp back the word 'love' and try again.

"Let me show you how grateful I am."

I'm nervous, it's been a long while since I've done anything like this. I trail my hands up his thighs, hoping he likes it as much as I do when he does it to me. His head falls back onto the pillow and he lets out a groan, giving me enough confidence to see this through.

I palm his cock through his jeans for a moment, feeling the heat beneath my palm.

"Stop," he commands, grabbing my hands in one of his to keep them from groping him further, "take your dress off." He releases my hands from his rough grasp.

I drag my fingertips back down his thighs, looking up at him from under my lashes as I move from his legs to my own, catching the forest green satin as my journey travels upwards.

The satin slides over my legs as I lift it at either side, revealing slender hips but letting the fabric drape down in the middle, prolonging the teasing. I look down at my body, biting my lip for his benefit as my hands pull it higher.

He disappears from view as I tug it over my head but I feel an appreciative rumble travel through his body when he sees the tiny black thong I'm wearing.

I arch my back as the dress finally slips off my arms and pools onto the floor beside the bed. I push my hips forward, pressing harder into his thigh as my pussy trembles for a little affection. The rough jeans catch on the satin in just the right way, pressing into my throbbing clit.

"Better?" I whisper, the lust coursing through me guiding me and moulding me into a temptress for him.

He shifts his leg underneath me, making me gasp and grab onto him so I don't topple over as more wetness seeps out of me. He chuckles, reminding me who's really in control here.

"Put your hands back on my cock," he orders.

I place both on him, squeezing lightly and glancing up to gauge his reaction. He's watching me with lust-filled eyes raking over my body.

"Go on," he prompts, shifting his hips up into my hands.

I tug open the button and pull the zipper, pulling on the waistband of his jeans a little to reveal more of his boxers.

He doesn't need to tell me what to do next, the desire to see his cock, feel it pulsing in my hand, is strong. I grind a little harder and reach in, hearing him suck in a sharp breath as my hand wraps around the silky, throbbing flesh.

I carefully pull him out of the cotton confines, wrapping my hand around the base entirely and just… fuck. Fuck. I can feel the hot blood pulsing through him in my palm under the thin silky skin stretched taught. I wrap my other hand around him too, but it's not enough, there's too much of him to hold all at once.

He twitches in my hands, reminding me to stop staring and start worshipping. I vow to make him cum like he made me cum.

My hands slide lightly over the skin, paying close attention to his reaction as I grind down on his leg at the same time.

He pushes up into my hands for a few slow strokes before his rough hand wraps around mine.

"Like this," he tells me in a low voice, increasing the pace and squeezing a little tighter, "that's it," he encourages me.

He grunts a little, the throbbing under my fingers intensifying as a bead of pre-cum forms. Without thinking, I dip down to lap it up, pressing my tongue flat and firm against him and feeling that musky taste saturate my taste buds.

I hear him hiss quietly and push up a little harder into my hands, so I do it again. The hot flesh feels so good beneath my tongue so I open wider and suck on the tip, pushing my hips back and sliding my pussy along his leg so my back doesn't need to curl up so much. My pussy lands on his knee, creating just the right pressure as I rotate my hips over it. Humming around his cock makes him groan.

Rough fingers in my hair push me down further, taking the head fully into my mouth. He's heavy on my tongue as I slide and flick it over him, adding a little suction and pumping the thick shaft quicker.

"Good girl," he groans above me, pushing my head down so more slips into my mouth, guiding me instead of forcing. I pull back a little and sink down further, trying hard to keep my teeth away from him but it's not easy, there's too much girth. Twisting my hands slightly every time they reach the thick base of his cock, I let saliva drool past my lips to lubricate my hands.

Feeling his hot, slick flesh under my fingers has my pussy aching, imagining sinking down on him. Fuck, he'll fill me right to the brim. The thought makes my hips jerk.

"Bella," he groans, hands tightening in my hair to let me know he's close. I suck harder and pull up a little, rolling my tongue around the head before sinking back down again and repeating.

I feel his other hand grip my head, rough fingers pressing into my scalp as his hips jerk erratically. I struggle to maintain my rhythm, sucking as much of him into my mouth as I can until thick streams of cum fill my mouth. I keep sucking, making sure to take as much of him as possible before slowly pulling myself off, keeping my lips tight around him so not a single drop will spill out.

_1, 2, 3…_

I swallow in one gulp, keeping my face down just in case a grimace manages to break through. It's slightly salty, musky, thick and creamy as it slides down my throat. I feel good, happy. I'm sated, even though I'm still aching for my own release – I wanted to swallow his cum even though I knew it wouldn't taste great. It never does, right?

His hands on my waist keep me steady as I pull upright and the blood rushes from my head.

"You ok?" he asks, watching me warily as I blink and try to regain my balance.

I nod slowly when I finally grow still. "Good," he murmurs, sliding his hands down from my waist to my hips, guiding my motions as I continue to grind on him, rocking back and forth over the denim. My pussy lips are swollen from all the friction, my clit pressed tightly against the satin and I know it's not going to take much.

I take over the pace, shifting a little quicker as I pull his rough hands up my body. He sets my skin alight as the rough pads add trace ribs before cupping my breasts.

"You're doing so good," he whispers into the room as my eyes flutter closed. He moves his fingers around the soft globes of my breasts until he can flick and roll my tight nipples under his thumbs. "Cum for me, sweet girl," he coos at me, the slight mocking in his voice and smirk I can hear with every word tips me over.

He pulls me down onto his chest as I try to catch my breath again, eyes still closed as I listen to his heartbeat.

"Bella?" he shakes me a little. Guess I started to drift off.

I manage to pull myself up enough to see his face. He's amused, but his expression is soft and he looks as tired as I feel.

He guides us upright, his arms around me as my head lulls back onto his shoulder. He drops a kiss onto my forehead.

"Few more minutes, then you can sleep," he promises, shifting away and pushing me gently off his lap. He disappears out the door, leaving me alone to take in the room for a moment. It's simple, darkwood furniture and bedframe with soft blue cotton sheets. Photo frames litter a chest of drawers pushed up against the wall and a few books clutter the nightside table.

I lean heavily on my arms, fighting sleep as I hear a tap running in the next room.

His body blocks the light from the hallway for a split second. He's stripped down to just his boxers.

"Did you leave your bag at Rosalie's?" he asks, waiting patiently for me to nod before digging through a drawer to find the right t-shirt for me to wear.

He passes the soft white cotton to me and watches quietly as I pull it over my head. I gently ease the thong down my legs, trying not to hiss when it unsticks itself from my still swollen and over-sensitive clit. It falls to the floor by my dress.

I crawl under the covers and wait for him to finish flicking off the lights and join me. I'm already drifting off into dreamland when the mattress dips besides me and a heavy arm curls over my waist.


	18. Chapter 18

The muffled sound of feet walking back and forth outside the chamber fill my ears as the help get ready for another day in the Palace. A faint clink of silverware tells me that they've got breakfast ready for us, but they won't come in until they're called. Birdsong plays outside the vast bay window, the gentle sounds of the carefully sculpted gardens beckoning me towards another day of entertaining guests and royal duties.

I snuggle a little further in the warm poster bed, his arm still draped over me and his breath in my hair. My body feels so sated, so warm and happy. Loved. I stay here for a while longer. 20 minutes, according to the alarm clock. But I can't stay in the fantasy forever.

It tastes like something died in my mouth overnight and my bladder is close to bursting. Squeezing my eyes tightly shut one last time to burn the royal fantasy into my mind for further exploration on another morning, I try to prepare myself mentally for the day.

My legs slide out from under the covers first, toes reaching blindly to find the floor, before my torso follows slowly so not to wake Edward. Black dots cover my vision for a moment when I'm finally upright, a faint headache knocking on my temples.

Pushing open the bedroom door left ajar, I stumble along to the bathroom I heard him use last night and practically collapse onto the toilet. God, I really need a cup of tea.

I'm smiling when I look down at the soft white cotton t-shirt I'm wearing and last night's events float back.

I feel like I remember everything, but there's some doubt. I mean, how would you know if you couldn't remember something?

Colour infuses my cheeks when I think back to how forward I was from the start of the evening to the end. Promising promiscuous dances, mixing it up with creepy strangers, dancing and singing in public… all the things that make me cringe and shudder. I grimace a little. I can't quite believe I really did all of that.

But if I hadn't, then maybe _that _wouldn't have happened. Sure, he didn't fuck me like promised… but _ that _was really something. Feeling his desire pulsing in my hand, knowing I make him feel like that, it's like a drug. I feel high on it all.

I clean up and inspect the cabinet over the sink. There don't seem to be any spare toothbrushes so I just take a swish of mouthwash and rub my teeth thoroughly with my tongue.

There are 2 other doors on the landing, one is an airing cupboard and the other is a tiny bedroom that's been converted into a study or workshop of sorts, although it looks like it's being used more for storage right now. There are cardboard boxes piled up and gathering dust. The door creaked when I cracked it open but Edward hasn't stirred. He's still sleeping peacefully on his side when I pad softly back into the bedroom.

His room is smaller than I remembered last night, the walls a little closer together and the furniture a more worn than I'd first thought, seen with a little light filtering through the curtains. It's not too dark to examine the photos sitting on the chest of drawers. The largest one, at the centre, is also the oldest. It shows 2 couples standing together, the pair on the left are dark-haired, willowy and tall, their gaze seeming proud and strong. The other couple are gentler, the woman has softer curves and caramel hair and the blonde man besides her is watching her smile with such an ardent look of compassion. Between the couples is a boy that's so obviously Edward it makes me smile back at them all. The auburn hair is the first giveaway. The fiery shade combined with the green eyes he shares with the willowy, dark-haired woman, make it undeniable. He can't be older than 10 in the picture and yet he already has so much character, his lips curving up into the signature smirk.

"Hey," his quiet voice rasps from behind me, still thick with sleep.

I turn around and whisper "hey," back at him. His eyes close for a few moments and then open again, disorientated. He rolls onto his back with a sigh.

"Did you sleep okay?" he asks, his voice still quiet and sleepy.

I perch on the end of the bed, his soft cotton shirt long enough to drape mid-thigh on me. "Yeah, thanks for letting me stay," I tell him, unsure what I should do now.

His breath deepens again as he drifts off for a moment, his lips parting a little before he snaps awake again.

He lets out another sigh and pulls himself upright, the covers slipping down to reveal his toned torso. No rippling body-builder muscles, just firm skin pulled taut over his strong frame, a smattering of hair on his chest.

He smiles when he catches me ogling but it doesn't last.

"Fuck," he mutters as he probes his forehead with his fingers, "I'm too old to get drunk like that, you gotta stop me next time."

"Okay," I agree, still smiling because there's definitely going to be a next time. "Do you want some tea?"

"Please," he mutters, almost pushing me off the bed as he lurches from under the covers and makes his way to the bathroom.

Loving the way the carpet is so plush between my toes, I walk downstairs and explore the kitchen for tea making supplies. I remember him telling me he doesn't like to cook much – it explains why there's not much food here. The milk is past its best but it still smells ok. I put the kettle on and get back to exploring the rest of the front room while it boils.

The shelves are even better when observed by sober eyes. Long branches, possibly from an oak tree, have been stripped of bark and sanded lightly, then fixed to the walls. Grooves and platforms carved into the tree limbs hold books and carvings. A chess set fills one dip with intricately carved pieces lined up for battle.

A knock on the door interrupts my nosey search around Edward's home. I hesitate when there's no sign of Edward coming down to get it. Should I answer it? I've no idea what the social protocol is here.

The knock turns into a banging fist.

"Get the door, Bella," Edward calls down at me.

Hyperaware that I'm only wearing a t-shirt – a white t-shirt – I search around in a panic to find something I can wear while answering the door. Pantyhose and a bra aren't going to cut it, so I stuff those into my handbag and tug on my coat before reaching the door handle.

It swings open to reveal a tired-looking Emmett and a child, a girl. This must be Alice. She pushes past me immediately, a blur of short black hair and sparkly pink trainers.

Emmett looks at me, my bare legs and feet underneath my winter coat, my ruffled hair and smudged mascara. I can see the wheels turning behind his tired eyes. We stand there for a few more moments before he sighs.

"I'll take a rain check on the inappropriate joke I should be making right now," he grumbles, "I'm too hungover for this shit."

He pulls my bag off his shoulder and hands it to me. "Rose said this was yours, is Ed up yet?"

"Yeah, he just got up," I reply, jumping slightly when the TV starts blasting music from the other room.

We stand there awkwardly for another few moments before Emmett shrugs to himself and tells me to remind Edward he'll be back around 5ish for Alice, and not to give her any sweets before dinner.

I want to run back upstairs and get dressed but I can't just leave Alice by herself, can I? I look between the door and the staircase a few times, dithering. The kettle clicks and that decides it for me.

I wander back into the kitchen and start pouring.

Alice is on the floor, still in her sparkly trainers and coat, watching some kids show on TV. She's completely engrossed, her large blue eyes trained on the bright lights. She looks so much like Emmett, the unruly dark hair and pale skin framing curious eyes. Edward told me she was starting school soon. I guess that makes her 4 or 5 years old. It's always been unspoken but I'm pretty certain Emmett is a single dad. I wonder what happened to Alice's mum and whether she still gets to see her.

The tea is made. Edward is still nowhere to be found. Now what?

_You're the adult in this situation, take control._

I clear my throat a little. "Hey, um, do you want a drink?"

I'm ignored. Or maybe she just wasn't paying attention.

"There's orange juice, if you want some," I continue, just to fill the really weird silence that's in the room.

"Daddy says you're not a witch," her soft voice finally acknowledges me.

"No, I don't think I am," is my amazing response. At least I've got her attention now. Her piercing eyes are watching my every move.

"Do you have a pointy hat?" she asks, deadly serious.

"Nope," I pop the 'p' in an attempt to sound more child-friendly and cheery in my response. I'm not sure it worked.

"Do you have a cat?" she continues her quiz.

"No, but I love cats," I try out a smile this time. She doesn't smile back, just continues with her probing stare.

"Do you fly on a broomstick?" she asks, like this is the most important question of all.

I pause a little, watching her eyes widen as I pretend to think about it.

"No flying broomsticks either, sorry Alice."

She sighs, her whole body exaggerating the movement as she heaves her shoulders like the adults do. I bite back a smile.

"Okay," she says, disappointedly and turns back to the TV.

I take a gulp of my tea, feeling a little proud that I just successfully had a conversation with a child. Maybe there's hope for me yet. My eyes drift away as soul-warming thoughts swirl into my head. Baking jam tarts with a little girl whose hair is like mine in this very kitchen.

"Sometimes I hear daddy say mummy is a witch," her soft voice cuts my daydream down before it can go deeper. She's not looking at me, still transfixed on the TV – she doesn't see my mouth pop open with shock.

What the hell do I say to that? I seriously hope he does say witch, not the very similar sounding word that Alice definitely shouldn't be hearing at this age.

"Is he silly?" Edward's voice breaths life into the room, the rich and playful tone smothering the worried clouds that were beginning to linger.

Alice giggles. "Very," she smiles up at him and he grins back down.

He's dressed, his hair darker and damp from the shower. And he smells glorious as he gets nearer, his green eyes playfully boring into mine as he takes a sip from his tea.

"Go take your coat off, Alice," he tells her, watching her scuttle out of the room with a huff before leaning in closer to me.

"You ok?" he asks, seeing my still shocked expression from what Alice just told me.

"Um, yeah," I try to work out the right words to ask what their situation is without sounding like I'm prying.

He takes another sip of tea, eyeing my bare legs and leaning against the counter. Reaching out, his long fingers grasp the metal zipper of my coat and tug it down halfway, his eyes devouring my collar bones and the soft rosy pink shades of my nipples visible through the thin cotton.

"Keep the shirt, it suits you," he smirks and swiftly pulls the zipper back up just before Alice comes back round the corner, minus her coat and sparkly trainers.

"What are we doing today, Edward?" she asks, her voice so innocent and soft. Anything could happen today, in her eyes. Endless games and adventures to be had. I envy her. Her whole life can be a fantasy with people taking care of her and no responsibilities to weigh her down.

"How does Twister sound?" he asks her, making his voice light and inviting like you're supposed to when you're talking to kids. The way she responds, you'd think she just won the lottery.

I leave them to it, grabbing my bag and heading upstairs as they lay out the Twister mat.

The bathroom is still humid, the heady scent of Edward and shampoo in the air. I stand there and breathe it in, trying to memorise the scent, before digging into my bag and getting dressed. I carefully fold up the gifted t-shirt, feeling the soft cotton on my skin one last time before I close the bag and slowly walk back down the stairs.

Edward has one hand on green and one on blue when I reach the living room. He stages a fall when he sees me ready to leave, making Alice squeal with delight at her victory. She heads off to pick a new game from the shelves.

"Thank you for, uh, letting me stay here," I tell him, because that's polite.

He pauses for a moment. "You're welcome here any time," his eyes glow with sincerity as he smiles down at me.

"I guess we should do some talking too," he watches my reaction and continues quickly when he sees the panic, "I'm sure you have some questions for me and… stuff."

Good, it's not _that _kind of talk.

I peer around him, checking that Alice is still preoccupied. Taking a deep breath to inhale that Edward-y scent and remembering the confident Bella from last night, I press my body against his.

"And stuff?" I whisper, looking up at him through my lashes a little.

His eyes darken in response.

"And stuff," he confirms. "Dinner, tonight?" he asks, although I'm not sure saying no is really an option. I wouldn't turn him down anyway.

I shift my weight against him a little and he grumbles in his chest appreciatively, sending butterflies nosediving from my stomach and bringing to life deeper desires. "I'll cook something nice."

"Walk, don't run," he chuckles as I sling my bag over my shoulder and hesitantly hold onto the door handle, searching for a reason to stay with Edward for a little longer.

"Bye, Bella," Alice's voice calls from the living room, eager to have her playmate back for another round of Twister.

With that, I push open the door and head back down the front garden with a date, a hopeful heart and a happy smile brightening my face.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: When I started writing this story I had planned for it to happen in real-time, leading up to Christmas 2019. Well, shit happened, as it usually does. Life got in the way but I'm doing my best and I'll keep writing the original storyline… so yeah, it's going to get a little festive as the chapters progress. But hey, it will make great reading when we come to Christmas 2020!**

**You can thank ShesAlwaysSinging for this chapter – without that simple 2 sentence review, I would never have found the motivation to get this chapter finished. Never underestimate your power as a reader to fuel us writers 3**

Do you ever get so anxious and nervous you feel like you're going to throw up? That's what I feel like right now, hurriedly tidying away clutter as the clock ticks down to our date tonight. _The _date. After 2 blissful nights snowed in together, this shouldn't be such a big deal… but it is. My heart thumps in time with my feet as I trail up the bare wooden stairs, finally ready to focus on myself and not procrastinate with the mess downstairs.

The walk home from Edward's house had been, well, interesting. The winding trail through the woodlands is lighter every time I pass through it, thanks to the falling foliage and bright winter light skimming around naked branches. Yet I can't seem to shake this feeling of being watched, the big bad wolf hiding behind one of the tree trunks is ready to pounce. It's a relief when I burst out of the trees on the other side… and it's a pain too. The harsh bright daylight and freezing cold temperature throbs behind my eyes, reminding me I'm not immune to hangovers either. But my heart is swelling up in my chest. Edward makes my green Grinch heart grow.

Soft smiles turn my lips up as I think about him again while I fill the bathtub and wait for the painkillers to kick in. Tonight we'll be talking and… stuff. The ominous, terrifying, thrilling and exciting stuff that my mind can't stop exploring. Nerves flutter in my stomach.

_Stop being silly. This is Edward, the guy who saw you a complete muddy mess the second time you met._

Yes, this is Edward. The man who sets my body alight. He's already seen me near my worst. I turn the taps off as the butterflies settle. I trust him already, I realise. I trust him with my well-being, something I'd been adamant was only my responsibility since mum left.

_Well shit, finally some personal development._

I huff and will away the inner monologue as I lower into the tub, reaching for the expensive bodywash bottle I'm cracking open for the first time. As much as I'm beginning to realise how close I feel to Edward already, I'm not quite ready to share all of me. The inner me. All the fantasies and adventures are just so… personal. They're one world and Edward is another. I don't think they can mix. Besides, Edward wouldn't want an immature, daydreaming girl. He wants a woman. The sexy seductive woman that was with him last night.

I focus on bringing that Bella back out – minus alcohol – as I soak in the tub.

Pale limbs stretch out before me, muscles slowly relaxing under the rippling surface of the pearly, perfumed water. Jasmine scents snake over my pores. My head tilts back with a sigh.

A sharp cold drop from the tap on my inner thigh shocks me awake again. The water is lukewarm and the light filtering down into the bath is that hazy warm glow of the golden sun in the late afternoon as the tap continues to drip its persistent rhythm. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

The cool bathwater swirls down the drain with all my hopes of being picture-perfect by the time Edward gets here. At least I'm clean, my skin soft and supple from such a long soak. I try to massage out the prune wrinkles on my fingers and toes with lotion, quickly smoothing it into my skin.

Digging out the old hairdryer from the back of my closet, deciding there's not enough time to let my hair dry naturally, I start to wring out the wet mahogany strands. I managed to find my favourite royal blue lingerie set to wear, the soft silk and pretty lace hugging my curves underneath the bathrobe as I sit here and let the hairdryer heat soak into my skull. Some things can't be rushed and this is one of them.

I fight the urge to chew my lip, not wanting to tear the skin as I start to think and worry about tonight. The hairdryer clicks off and it's time for soft hair oils now, letting the golden liquid glide over my fingertips as I massage it into my locks, scratching my scalp with gentle nails and trying not to overthink things. My eyes close involuntarily as I work to tease my hair just right, like Rose did for me.

"You should lock your door," his quiet voice, rich like honey, radiates across the room to startle me.

Wide doe eyes lock onto vivid green ones in the mirror reflection in front of me. He's here already, leaning in the door frame like a Levi's model in his dark jeans and tight t-shirt. But in the slowly fading light, as twilight approaches, he's something else entirely. Not quite human but definitely all man. His skin glows, his toned forearms crossing over his chest as he watches me with an amused smirk. The hint of dark circles under his eyes is the only traces of yesterday's late night. They draw me in further, making the magnetic greens of his eyes sparkle and seemingly glow in the gloom of my bedroom.

I whip my head around from the mirror to the doorway, like I'm scared he'll evaporate into the air if I take my gaze off his lean figure and striking eyes. I'm surprised he can't hear the thump thump thump of my heart from there, it's throbbing in my ears.

With just 5 words and 1 look, he's completely mesmerised my unprepared mind. Realising I should say something instead of unashamedly ogling him, I squeak out the only reply I can think of.

"Okay, I will."

He nods once, a sharp acknowledgement of my words that sends a wiry lock of copper hair stray. I want to wrap it around my fingers, tugging his face down to mine so I can feel that slight stubble scratching my skin so deliciously as our lips meet. The butterflies flutter back to life at my brazen thoughts.

I close my eyes as the blood starts to colour my cheeks, taking a deep breath in and letting it out with a soft laugh at the absurdity of what I'm feeling right now. Nervous and shy because there's a man in my bedroom, like I'm a teenage girl again and not a fully-grown woman who sucked said man's cock not 24 hours ago.

The tension and nerves leave me with my breath. This is Edward. He wants me.

"Hi," I start again with excitement bubbling in my veins, "you're here."

"As promised, for dinner and… stuff," he muses quietly, still leaning in the door frame.

"Are you hungry?"

His eyes slowly and deliberately trail down my body, taking in the soft white bathrobe tied carelessly around my waist. The low v-shape revealing how fast I'm breathing already as my breasts swell in soft silk. His gaze travels further, my lips parting slightly in a silent pant as his eyes reach the silky smooth legs twisted beneath me.

"I could eat," his lips pull up into a crooked shape as his eyes reach mine again, considerably darker than they were a moment ago.

Liquid starts to pool lower down, making my softest lips so slick with wetness. He waits for me to respond, still waiting in the doorway with ungodly stillness, just his eyes flickering with movement in time with the rise and fall of my chest.

Oh God. He's so fucking hot. I'd always thought 'dripping with sex' was a silly, unjustified cliché but damn. It _is _dripping off him, creating a wave of lust that's drowning me so delightfully.

My gaze still locked in his, I lean back and rest my arms on the vanity desk behind me, feeling the slide of silk as my robe parts just a little further. I tilt my head back, long tresses tickling my arms as I unabashedly let him see me, tempting him with my body, a wanton mess for him in mere minutes.

He stalks forward slowly, torturously, his gaze finally breaking from mine to travel my body again. And he sees right through me, through the lustful, confident, wanton woman who wore her best lingerie. He sees this move for what it is. The prey tilting her neck back, giving in to the predator. Offering her body as a sacrifice to the God. Submitting to the darkness, the dominance and the pure unadulterated power that this man has over me.

I want him to claim me. He knows it.

The musty spiced scent of him swirls over me as he looms closer, until he's blocking out the dimming light. Trembles threaten to weaken my arms as I feel the weight of his gaze bearing down on me. My eyes drop from the pressure, taking in his muscular thighs wrapped in jeans and the thick, suckable bulge under the zipper.

His light chuckle shatters the silence in the air as his hand, that rough-skinned nimble hand, reaches towards me, tilting my chin up gently and exposing my throat so he can wrap his fingers around it again. Back where they belong.

Nothing can move us in this moment, my pulse throbbing under his palm and my eyes locked in his hungry gaze. I want it to last forever, but it doesn't. He gives in first, curving his hand to trail up from my throat and into my hair, roughly pulling me up and his other hand curling my waist to secure my body to his.

And then his lips are on me. Rough meets smooth and I whimper, unable to stay silent as everything descends into madness. The kiss doesn't deepen, it starts that way. Raw passion as his tongue roughly plays with mine, saturating my taste buds with his scent and consuming my mouth until my plump lips are swollen and my lungs burn for breath. He doesn't let up, using his rough fingers on my scalp to tug my head back and pull my body under him, bowing to his height as he pants hot breath on my neck and traces fiery patterns with his tongue.

His hands roam down my back, groping my ass as he kicks my legs apart. Coarse fingers wrap around my thighs and roughly pull me up to my favourite place. Legs wrapped around his narrow hips, fingers gripping those muscular shoulders, and that thick hard cock of his pressed tightly between my legs.

I feel his movement but my eyes are too tightly closed, blinded by the sensations coursing through me at his touch and his tongue soothing the prickly feeling of his stubble on my sensitive collar bones with wet molten heat. I burn with anticipation, lost in the desire to be pushed up against the cold stone wall and fucked mercilessly until I fall apart, and then some.

Instead, I gasp with sickly surprise as he suddenly lets go and I'm falling backwards into space, my eyes flashing open just in time as my back hits the soft cotton covers of my bed. He looms over me, lips still parted and hair askew as he takes me in.

My legs try to squeeze together, relieve the ache hidden under blue silk panties, but I can't. He's still between my legs, keeping them spread wide for him as he takes his sweet time undressing me with his eyes. This is so much better than the wall, and so much worse, as I squirm on the softness under me and plead with my eyes to have that rough touch back again.

I want to be fucked.

"What do you want, sweet girl?" he toys with me, seeing exactly what I want in my heavy-lidded eyes. His voice is as rough and calloused as his heavy hands, the usual mocking tone is lost under lust.

Words escape me but my body knows what to do. I slowly reach for the bathrobe knot at my waist, my hips jerking automatically as he shifts his rough denim against my sensitive thighs, but my eyes never leaving the dark forest green of his gaze locked on me. _This is what I want._

He chuckles again, the low and throaty sound echoing between us. "So fucking greedy," he smirks, "you're desperate to be touched, aren't you?"

I'm too far gone to be offended by his words. They mean no offense anyway… he loves how needy I get for him.

He reaches up to pull his shirt over his head, then dips down. His breath brushes my face before his lips descend on mine, firm but slow. Too slow. My lips part, trying to pull him closer, hungry for more.

He pulls away, dragging a whimper from my lips at the loss. Then the real torture begins. His lips drag everywhere, followed by hardened fingertips. The rough and smooth and wet leaving fiery trails over my body, tugging down the blue silk of my bra to suck and nibble on the swollen tips. My legs try to clamp together again, but he's still pressed between them.

The torture continues until I'm gasping, his lips now hovering millimetres above the damp silky material between my legs. His jeans vanished sometime between the steady sucks on my nipples and the dips of his tongue in my navel as I squirmed beneath him. It's his nimble fingers keeping my legs spread for him now.

He nips at the silk, grazing sensitive lips as his teeth tug the last scrap of material down my thighs. He mumbles something under his breath before he finally gives my quivering flesh the contact it needs. His tongue laps long, slow licks, tasting the creamy juices that are all but gushing out of me at this point. I can't watch, it's sensory overload as the tip of his tongue slips inside to play with my clit.

He circles it until my hips jerk and my fingers reach blindly for his hair, I want to push his face lower, feel that strong tongue dip inside deeper, but he doesn't indulge me.

"Fuck, Edward, I…" my hips lift to increase the pressure of his tongue flicking and pressing into my swollen, throbbing flesh. He pulls away before he makes me cum, ripping my hands from his hair to pin them over my head. He lowers his weight onto me slowly.

"You ready, sweet girl?" his voice is low and rough as his eyes burn into mine, seeing all the answers he needs.

My shallow panting breath fills the room as anticipation zips through my body, muscles clenching inside and wetness seeping from me.

The thick head of his cock glides through the silky skin of my folds as he guides it up and down, coating his flesh in the wetness before pushing in. He groans low and long at the tight feeling of my pussy stretching around the head of his cock. It feels so fucking good as he slides inch after inch inside. The walls of my pussy helplessly grip his impressive girth, trying to suck him in deeper but completely unable to clench. Fuck, he fills me to full capacity. The thought sends more wetness gushing around him as he fills me completely.

Expletives fall from his lips as he lets go of my pinned hands to grip my hips. "Fuck, sweetheart, can you take all of my cock?" he groans, parting my legs further and trying to push his way deeper inside. There's still an inch of his thick length to go, but he's already got me stretched out.

He nudges his hips forward, trying to get me to take all of him. The movement rubs the thick swollen head of his cock against a spot so deep inside me I didn't even know it existed. I mumble out a moan as the pleasure makes my toes curl. He doesn't let up the pressure, continuing to rub that sweet spot until it's unbearable. Until it's too much. "Ungh," escapes my lips as the only warning I can muster before my back arches and my eyes roll back into my head at the intensity of my orgasm.

Edward grunts at the sensation of my tight walls pulsing around him. Rough hands grip my calves and pull my legs up against his chest, the angle allowing him to finally slip deeper so I can take all of him. Every last inch.

His hips continue to rock minutely, letting me feel every inch as I come down slowly from the high. Green eyes bore into mine, too lust-filled to tease me about cumming so quickly just from the sensation of his cock in me.

Then he pulls back, eyes still locked on mine, as he pushes his way back in. There are no words now, just the push and pull, the delicious friction as he sets a steady, firm pace. Every inch of him, slick with my cum, claims me over and over again. My hips rise to meet his, pushing against his hands with every thrust until he falls forward. His hands dig into the mattress on either side of me as he fucks me harder, pushing us both closer as his thrusts start to lose their rhythm and I throb around him, my fingers clawing into his back.

His head falls into my neck, tongue tasting the salt sweat sheen on my skin as his release hits, his cock still buried in that deepest place inside me as I cum with him.

Our hot skin melts together as rough touches turn to soft kisses and licks. This is what heaven feels like.

After 3 hours, 2 bowls of tagliatelle, and 1 awkward but necessary explanation about the contraceptive pills I take, we're settled back into our spot. Legs glowing in the warm light stretched out in front of the fire, backs resting against the sofa, his strong arm around my waist and my head pillowed against his chest.

He feels different and the same. Still Edward, still that enticing contradiction of soft and rough… but different. I could melt right into his chest because his skin feels like my skin. Like we're one being, bound together. Is it supposed to feel like this after sex?

_Maybe you shared something more than just a lustful fuck session._

It's a rare occasion when my inner voice comes up with an idea that soothes me.

"What are you smiling at?" he asks, the smile on his own face evident in his voice.

"Nothin'," I whisper more smiling words into the comfort of his chest, "how did you know I was smiling anyway?"

"I just know."

Silence swarms around us again, a comforting blanket as the fire crackling fills the room once more and the steady rise and fall of Edward's chest lulls me back into my mind.

For a moment, I wish we weren't here. I wish we were in Alaska, or deep in the wilderness of Russia, hidden away in a cabin with no connection to the outside world. No responsibilities or jobs or worries. Just his body, mind and soul endlessly dancing with my own.

"…really know a person," the rumbling vibrations under my cheek pull me back to hear the end of Edward's sentence.

"What?" I murmur, feeling too mellow and languid to pretend I heard what he said.

His shoulders jerk a little as he chuckles.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about," he leans down to press his lips to my hair before continuing, "so, Miss Swan, tell me something about you."

I mock groan. "Not this game again, don't you already know so much about me?"

He doesn't reply. After a beat, I struggle to pull myself upright.

His eyes are kind, his face still soft, yet also serious, searching my eyes for answers.

"You know more about me than anyone else," I let my whispered words float between us, showing him with my eyes that I mean it.

His hand comes up to my throat again, feeling my pulse as I lean into him. This new physical connection between us feels so good, so natural.

He feels it too. "Okay, little one," he murmurs back, "then tell me where you went just now."

_He's got you there._

Seeing I have no answer for him, he carries on with that soft voice, probing further. "Or when you were cooking up dinner and didn't see it burning in the pan. Or how you could disappear inside yourself enough to fall asleep inside a busy pub…" his voice trails off, using his eyes to ask more than his words can.

He's too observant, seeing right through me, deep down to my soul. It's not fair. I can't tell him. I don't want to tell him. What if it ruins everything?

There's nothing I can do but return his gaze.

He smiles softly and shifts against the sofa, getting comfortable. He's not leaving.

"Just tell me something, any little thing, from inside here," he taps his fingers gently against my temple, "let me read your mind for a moment."

With my heart in my throat, I lean into his hand until it's cupping my face.

"I've never been bored," I whisper to the spot on his t-shirt I can't look away from. "It's just…. There's always something, y'know? Maybe I'm simple minded. I don't… I don't know. It feels like my mind is endless. How could anyone with an imagination ever be bored?"

My eyes involuntarily flicker to his face, finding nothing but kindness and curiosity and the curve of his smile.

"Your mind isn't simple, Bella, it's beautiful. Don't hide it away. Not from me."

I'm pulled back into his embrace, the heat from the fire washes back over us and everything would be perfect if it weren't for this quiet thought in the back of my mind. The thought that eventually I'd have to tell him everything if this is to last. Not just the poetic words and imagination, but the way I've carved out my life around it. The way that I'll never be 100% present when we're having a conversation. The way it's dangerous for me to take on responsibilities. That maybe I will never be truly living in the moment.

He won't find that beautiful in the slightest.


End file.
